


Husk of a Nord [REDONE]

by Flutterwacken



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Character Development, Denial, Dragonborn Harbinger, Eventual Darkbrotherhood Involvement, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hircine - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Torture, Silverhand - Freeform, Silverhand involvment, Skyrim - Freeform, The Companions - Freeform, The Silver Hand - Freeform, The companions take on a new whelp, The companions try to free and save a fellow werewolf, Things take a turn during a mission, Werewolves, and a single bathouse scene, companions disagree what to do, things don’t go quite as planned, trying to help a stranger is harder than they thought, trying to smuggle a werewolf into whiterun is even harder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 76,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutterwacken/pseuds/Flutterwacken
Summary: Blood falls more often than snow in the land of Skyrim.The Companion's have always been Skyrim's greatest protectors. From the day they set foot off their longship, to the current days where the land finds herself in greater need for protection, they follow their honor in place of any king.But the time has come where their way of life is threatened. Not by a war, but a single burned man who has served not only the blood of beasts - but the vile enemy known as The Silverhand.Vilkas was a proud Companion, but now...? Now he must decide between the way things have always been, or the path of war that would finally end the greatest threat - all while knowing that any mistake could cost Skyrim her life.___(NOTE: Chapter 15 is a collection of all the fanart for this story!)
Relationships: Aela the Huntress/Skjor, Angst/fluff - Relationship, Darkbrotherhood/causing death, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas, Silverhand/Death
Comments: 37
Kudos: 15





	1. Aspects of Mead, Music, and Mistakes

There was a lot to be said when an entire nation thanked the slayer of a Alduin - even more so when that same fearsome warrior had once been a prisoner for the chopping block. Though, nothing could quite explain why The companions had asked for him to stay as their Harbinger. Or why skyrim itself went as far as to create a holiday to celebrate it.

The Companions, who's name was so cunningly coined by those they'd fought for, raised their tankards high alongside the townsfolk who cheered him.

It was the anniversary of Alduin’s defeat. The city of Whiterun bustled with festivities, perfumed by the wind which swept through countless feasts.

Targets that crudely resembled the fallen dragon, painted with over exaggerated features, such as beady eyes, and scrawny wings, stood propped against the tall stone walls for the archers. The large protruding horns, matched only by the tiny claws, left even the most serious guard amused. While the Bards did their best to sing of the Harbinger's valor over the roar of the celebration.

Although it had been almost four years since the Dragon’s fall, the same Harbinger, leader of the Companions, still lived. And looked quite unscathed, considering. The bards in question were more than happy to spin the tale for their audiences of how the mad Dragon had returned eyons after he was banished - only to be slain by the man’s descendant. Which was utter bull, but the Harbinger didn't bother to correct them.

Even the Jarl of the city had given a rousing speech that very morning, leaving the Harbinger himself, Elriah, to scurry back to Jorrvaskr in hopes of avoiding the crowds that cheered his name. Or worse, those who begged for him to bless their belongings or children, as if he was some fabled warrior sent down from Sovngarde itself.

With Elriah's successful escape, the Companion's gathered with their Harbinger in the main hall, tucked safely behind the Meadhall's oaken walls. The town could celebrate however they pleased, but the Companion's wanted nothing more than to share their mead with their shield-siblings, waiting for their Harbinger to tell the grand story of the king's fall again. The true story, and not the one he used to appease the masses.

Elriah smiled proudly as his words painted the killing blow that took down the world eater. From the shine on the dragon's scales, to the cries of the fellow warriors, it was portrayed vividly by his words and envisioned in the minds of those who listened. Throughout his tale Elriah never once mentioned the Dragon’s name. Though it was not out of respect.

Elriah was a man in his early thirties, whose features were framed by long golden hair that rested softly against his shoulders. The brief beginnings of the beard dusted his chin. The last attempt had been scorched off by a Briggan, much to his dismay. Although Elriah had once been known as a healer, his name was now revered as that of a warrior. Albeit one who leaned more towards his staff than the sword on his hip. His frame echoed as much, standing slimmer than the others around him who had descended from the hardy Vikings of yore.

Farkas, a wall of a viking, whose thick black hair was worn just as Elriah's was, sat merrily at the Harbinger's left, adding in his own tales of his blows as he'd accompanied his husband into the fray.

Elriah smiled proudly as he continued his tale.

"The dead themselves sung when the dragon died. Even the stone of the giant mead hall echoed the same bellowing cry of those who had died from trying to slay the beast. The thick fog that had surrounded Sovngarde since his return vanished, leaving only his charred corpse behind, surrounded by all those who had been snared into defending themselves from being devoured, even in death. But then the heavens themselves opened up above the splintered bones!" Elriah all but whispered as his eyes clouded with the memory.

"Starlight filled Sovngarde as heroes of yore stood tall around me, as if carved from the dragon's very bone's, somehow plucked into Sovngarde itself. All I can say is that Sovngarde was more beautiful and haunting than any song or poem could describe." His eyes were distant though smiling as he told them of Kodlak’s greeting, smiling softly with his scarred lips. Even their lost leader, the one who had brought Elriah into the Companion's, had been amongst the holy dead that had risen to slay the beast.

"Kodlak’s war cry echoed the loudest of all, as he stood with the first of the Companions. The skys themselves seemed to shake with their war cries. so much that the Dragon's bones shook. Nodding wordlessly in approval, Kodlak turned and vanished with the others into their final rest of the halls of Valor." Elriah's story ended just as it had the night he'd first told it - with a very large swig of his mead, followed by a satisfied sigh. "Now, who wants more mead?"

Collectively the Companions let out half-hearted sounds of disappointment. Although it didn't prevent them from raising their tankards high.

Njada threw her hands, and half-full tankard up. The contents sloshed onto the closest Companion who shot back a growl. Njada quickly returned it, sending the other Companion scurrying to a different seat. "That's it? What about the founder? Did he chew you out for turning half these layabouts into milk drinkers?" Njada glared halfheartedly at their leader.

An offended shout cracked through the room. "Oi! Who you calling a milk drinker?" Athis, a dark elf, challenged. "I'm no layabout either," he quickly added with a huff. He was the only Companion who wasn't human. His dark skin, knife like ears, and sharp red eyes managed to look right at home amongst the burly battle scarred norsemen.

Njada smirked, gulping down the last of her mead. "A milk drinker, that's who!" She taunted as she set her tankard down with a hard _thunk_ as she stood. "What's really in that tankard?"

Elriah waved them off like children, beaming as he broke up their playful fight. It was better than dealing with questions. Even with his story at an abrupt end, no Companion could hold a flicker of resentment. The true story had only been uttered once, and only to the ears of those of their fold. The Companion's knew the true terror and awe that had befallen their Harbinger during the dragon's demise. They were honored to be trusted with the truth, and knowledge of the sacrifice the battle had claimed. For anyone else, the Harbinger was known to spin a quick summary of swords and other legendary things the townsfolk would expect. Even to the face of the Jarl himself. But not to them. 

Away from the hustle and bustle of the celebration sat one of the Companions, who boredly watched from under tired brows. Vilkas had taken refuge at a small table braced against the farthest wall. It allowed not only the best chance of peace - but also the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on the tall casks of mead, gifted by the Jarl.

Even away from the main crowd there was no deafening the loud calamity of celebration. Which only made the reason he sulked off to the side worse. He'd woken up, if it could be called that as he had barely managed to get a full four hours of sleep, with another headache.

Farkas, his much larger twin shot him a happy grin as he spotted him. Vilkas returned it halfheartedly, though his eyes squinted in discomfort.

Farkas's smile grew. The mountain of a man was probably under the assumption that the gloom was only to protect his twin's image. Vilkas wasn't about to correct him.

Vilkas was well-built similar to his brother, but was nowhere near being the living armored mountain that his twin was. Though his frame was smaller it still managed to sport a hefty amount of muscle - and an equal amount of scars. After all, he was a member of the most honored warrior guild in the land. One of which also sat amongst the circle, which made him the fourth in command, just under Skjor and his own twin.

Along with the other Companions that were gathered, Vilkas wore the guild's armor proudly. Mostly to keep appearances, as they all suspected their hall would be visited by the townsfolk offering their Harbinger thanks for his deeds. Not unlike their ancestors, the armor still bore heavy traces of their Viking legacy. From the heavy iron carved skillfully, to the decorative fur that draped over their shoulders.

Vilkas's helmet, which bore fangs like a growling wolf, rested over his knee. It was too much of a bother to try and drink through the mouth-guard - which looked like an open snarling wolf's muzzle. And there was a celebration to be had.

Vilkas's hollowed blue eyes watched over his shield siblings. Refusing to be accused of lying about, the warrior took careful note of how many drinks were poured from the casks the Jarl had so humbly gifted. Even this lot wouldn't be able to down fourteen barrels worth in a single sweep, though not with lack of trying. Celebration or not Vilkas already planned to ban certain members from drinking further. It wouldn't do for the proud Companions to be so sloppy drunk they couldn't stand.

The very thought, and the scene in front of him, caused Vilkas to huff quietly in amusement.

Tovar, the single true drunk of their guild, had somehow managed to sneak sips from unattended tankards, leaving the poor bastard barely able to walk in a straight line. Sadly it wasn't unusual for the stout bastard. Had it not been for the fact he'd been drinking well before dawn, the man may have had a chance to hold his liquor.

Vilkas held up a hand, flicking two fingers towards the Companion who manned the casks, then towards Tovar, who was currently standing on one of the low tables to peer over the crowd. The barkeep followed his gaze, answering with a silent nod. A wooden block that had been carved with the Companion’s name was slipped in front of the cask, noting he was no longer allowed to partake.

Vilkas chuckled in his drink as the Drunkard realized this, shooting him a heavy glare from underneath his brow. Vilkas simply returned it with a smug grin.

Once Tovar looked away, the fourth-in-command quickly fell back into his scowling again. The headache had only grown worse, and mead, for once, was doing little to stave off the ache. All it accomplished was darkening the scowl that adorned him as often as his armor. A scowl that happened to match quite well with the war paint around his eyes. Except today they were smudged, only adding more drear to his already exhausted state.

Celebration or not, the other Companions knew better than to point it out, or advise him to fix it. They knew he'd grown unable to sleep for more than a few hours at best. The few hours that weren't plagued by aches was much better used by fighting, and not applying paint which would be smudged in no time at all. That, and at some point gentle teasing had grown more damaging than not.

Vilkas sipped at his mead as thoughts jumbled, futilely trying to block out the sounds of the celebration.

The Companions were known for two things. Keeping the Skyrim safe, and taking jobs that either the official guards refused to, or just couldn't handle. From defeating large groups of highwaymen, to taking down entire packs of draugr fueled by vengeful spirits. Nothing was too much, or too little, for the Companion's to concor. But as Vilkas glanced to where the Harbinger tacked jobs upon the wall for them to pick from, there was nothing to be seen.

Vilkas sighed.

Jobs had all but trickled away since the Dragon’s fall, and even their worst enemies, the Silverhand had yet to show their faces following their last defeat. And damn it all if the others agreed it proved their victory, Vilkas's gut said otherwise. The warrior had no doubts that the bastards were lying now in a cave somewhere, breeding like the skeever they were. Though he agreed in one instance, that at least they hadn't lost another brother to their silver blades. The thought was just enough to make him almost smile. Vilkas was happy, despite his minor complaints, but even then the lack of activity was beginning to wear down his patience. But at least even though job choices were slim to none, life had yet to grow boring, and there had been no family to mourn.

Not only had his brother Farkas finally gotten married, to the Harbinger no less, but Skjor had fully recovered from his injuries from the final battle. Low and behold Skjor had even managed to attend the wedding, bandaged bloodied and whole. Then again, when a wedding is done by the loudest monk known, on the very back steps of Jorrvaskr no less, it was a hard thing to miss.

Amazingly, even with the lack of jobs the Companions' coffers were filled to the brim. Because even when there were no jobs, there were always guards to help train, and the monetary thanks of the people they guarded. Last season had been so plentiful it had even allowed Jorrvaskr to be patched up - fixing the various leaks in the roof from the last Silverhand attack. The repairs now kept in the warmth of the fire and the smells of feasting locked tightly inside. The smell of honey-infused mead was strong around Vilkas, as well as the smell of fresh blueberry scones and other candied rations that were displayed along the extensive tables.

Yet even with the comforts of home, and financial stability, Vilkas still longed for the road. His eyes turned towards the far wall's window pane. The slowly setting sun was shining through the open windows as a soft breeze accompanied the rays. The warrior took a breath, thankful for the fresh air that eased his aching head. Light reflected off of the dust floating in the air, stirred by the people dancing about.

Aela, a thickly-built woman with amber hair, was demonstrating the proper way to hunt boars with an axe. Which apparently left a poor unsuspecting cask in the beast's place. Vilkas flinched as an empty cask was used as an example, practically cracking his head open along the wood from the noise alone, as Aela's axe sliced through the cask with a single swoop. The cheer that rose up from such a display didn't help either. He sunk lower into his seat, grumbling into his mead.

His attention fell back onto the gathered warriors before him.

Farkas, of course, was still talking quietly with the Harbinger. While Tovar on the other hand, found interest in a newer female recruit he'd been trying to win over well over a month's time.

Vilkas was far from surprised to find Athis and Njada off to the side as well, throwing lazy drunken punches at each other - strength not dampened by the alcohol in the slightest. At that point he was almost certain that it was their form of showing affection.

He continued to watch as time went on. Eventually the Companions favored telling stories of their own valor instead of demonstrating and dancing about. Their tales were tossed around almost as much as the freshly filled tankards. Except in Tovar's case, though he continued to try and steal sips when he thought no one was looking.

Vilkas sipped his own. There was no denying the fact that he was happy for the Companions, and for the event they celebrated. Even if he stayed off to the side. But sadly he couldn't deny the fact his headache was the least of his ill feelings as he watched. And even as he faked the slightest smile for his Harbinger, Vilkas could barely think over the clouding thoughts.

Although never alone among his fellow comrades, his beast blood was beginning to drive him further from his family. It constantly stalked his thoughts and clawed at the shreds of patience he was left having to fake. He was thirsty for adventure and coin alike, yet neither seemed to be any closer now than they had been months ago. The curse howled nightly for the hunt, and if it didn't get its way, Vilkas would find himself as the prey in his dreams. The lack of sleep and resulting headaches only made it worse. And as it grew stronger and harder to bare, Vilkas had almost gone to the Harbinger to ask for help, but every time he'd reach the door, the guilt and shame would send him back to his seclusion.

Vilkas began to wonder if he should attempt to approach again that night.

In the public's eye the Companions were solid protectors, gifted with strong bodies and even stronger resolve. Even the bards dared not sing tales of where such strength could come from. Which helped evade the harsh truth from those who would fear it the most. Though not an actual curse, there was a heavy burden that fell over every higher ranked Companion in the mead-hall. Just as it always had, since the very founding of their fold.

Though before Vilkas could contemplate the curse more, his ominous brooding was broken by a sudden slap against his back.

Skjor smiled down at Vilkas before speaking, his voice slurred from the several mugs of Ale and Mead. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself for once! These whelps almost handle celebrations as good as their blades." The oldest Companion grinned with thick white teeth, that almost blended into the thick grey beard. He was almost as mountainous as Farkas, with a bigger gut to go with it.

Skjor laughed as Vilkas gave out an annoyed grunt. He pointed a finger at Vilkas as his rambling continued. "Got a job, if you want it. Trappers are poaching near the old Silverhand fort, same one that almost did me in. Why don't you go take care of that?"

Skjor looked confused by his own words for a brief moment as he thought.

"I mean the poachers, not the fort... Though, I guess it can be taken care of too, if Elriah yelled at it, the magical bastard..." Somehow he managed to insult their leader with the highest respect in his voice. "Anyways, you seem to have too much time on your hands if you can brood like this, on a good day no less! So, why don't you get out and do something? Can't have you all lazing about. 'Specially one of the circle!" If Skjor attempted to sound annoyed, he failed miserably as a smile broke through the charade.

Vilkas gave the elder a grin in return before shaking his hand, accepting the job without even a second thought. Relief washed over him. Skjor let go before grabbing Vilkas's shoulder, giving it a friendly hearty shake. Vilkas pointed with his chin, which a fair startings of a beard had taken hold of, towards the empty seat to his left. Skjor accepted with all the grace that could be expected from a one-eyed, old, drunken warrior. Which to say, was not much. Vilkas's hand shot out to steady the table as Skjor almost sent it off scurrying to escape as his gut bumped into it. He sat, better known as fell, into the seat and wasted no time downing yet another filled tankard – one that Vilkas quickly realized was his own.

He allowed the insult with only _mild_ complaint.

With nothing else left to be said, the two men watched as Tovar began to dance in a drunken whirl. The drunkard’s arms flailed, and so did his legs as he seemingly tried to dance. Which only got worse and more frantic as some of the Companions started clapping and stomping their feet drunkenly along with the bard's song. Only encouraging Tovar more, he began to really put on a show, swinging his short stubbed limbs every way possible with such glee it wasn't unlike seeing a toddler's first, albeit drunken, steps. But what sealed Tovar's fate was when the recruit he'd tried to woo laughed at the sight. For being so drunk, Tovar managed to put quite the show as he somehow picked up the pace even further - sending his beard whipping his face and catching about his throat. As he picked up more pace, he began to stumble, flail, and wobble more and more.

Tovar finished off by pulling off a rather impressive spin. Of course his luck couldn't last forever. The drunk proceeded to trip over his own feet. But, instead of falling onto the floor, he fell straight back and onto Elriah, spilling the drink from his hands.

Jorrvaskr fell silent. The music screeched to a halt.

Tovar stared up at the harbinger wide eyed. "I... didn't mean ta' do that," he stammered drunkenly as he stared up from the Harbinger’s very lap.

Even Elriah was caught off guard as the mead soaked into the semblance of 'fancy' clothes he allowed himself to wear. If a simple worn robe coupled with fur draped around his shoulders counted. After a long moment Elriah finally laughed - shattering the tension of the room. "I don't doubt it! I think that's enough dancing for one day, Tovar. Best to stop while you're ahead."

Njada snorted. "Or still have yours attached." she smirked snidely, causing Ria to snort in a failed attempt to hide her laughter.

Elriah grinned as he helped the drunkard stand. Which was mostly just standing up and letting the poor bastard fall onto his feet - with Elriah's hands on his shoulders just in case. Tovar could only nod and agree as he retired to his room, refusing any help before stumbling again. The Companion's held back their snickers at the poor red faced drunk. His blush was so red it almost matched his beard. Somehow he managed not to trip as he wobbled down the steps that lead below to the private quarters.   
  
\-   
  


The celebration continued, and a while later, when the sun had almost set, Aela found her way to Vilkas and Skjor. The party had died down somewhat, as most of the Companions retired for the evening. Aela joined Vilkas and Skjor, bringing them mugs of mead alongside her own. Vilkas took his tankard with a nod of gratitude, while Skjor took his and offered her a wink. It was no secret the old warrior and Aela had some chemistry flowing between them, but even Vilkas wasn't quite sure what.  
  
Then again the old man could have simply blinked. It was hard to tell with only one eye.

Aela scoffed before taking a seat across them, taking a sip of mead of her own, before resting her eyes on Vilkas again.

The tired warrior appeared distant as he drank, his eyes darkened with thought.

Aela raised a brow, studying her shield-brother. "I take it the brooding is going well?" She teased from behind her tankard, hiding her grin.

Vilkas all but ignored her and continued to sip the mead, but squinted in response.

Aela grinned as it gave him away.

"Hard to brood on the road," Skjor mumbled drunkenly into his mug. "I threw him a job."

Vilkas nodded as he continued to watch the other Companions around him with renewed interest. They'd started a drinking game between Athis and Farkas, the prize being a new shield detailed finely by their blacksmith Eorlund- displaying the famous battle of Elriah against the dragon king. Had Vilkas not wanted to die from the headache straight from hell itself he would have jumped at the chance to join in. If nothing else but to use it to embarrass his brother-in-law. He eyed the shield more. Maybe Farkas would let him borrow it. After all he knew there was no chance his twin would miss the chance to own a shield that showed the valor of his own husband.

However their Harbinger seemed less than thrilled at the fact he was paraded yet again. Still, he appeared to be taking it in good amusement if not only for his husband's sake.

After taking a swig, and deciding it was finally time to stop ignoring his company, Vilkas spoke up. If nothing else but to answer the curious questioning glances of Aela. "There's some poachers I have to deal with. But I'm not so prideful to act as if I'm looking forward to being so close the Silverhand fort." He was no coward, even the Harbinger held a healthy amount of caution when it came to the enemy clan.

And if a magical bastard who'd managed to kill a dragon felt fearful, then gods be damned if he didn't feel the same.

Aela hummed in agreement from her tankard.

As the contest won their attention, it appeared that Farkas was indeed starting to win. Vilkas chuckled into his cup while he watched the antics. Skjor had already put some gold on the table, which Aela quickly matched with her own. Even if neither would win the shield, at least one of them would walk away with some profit. Even Vilkas slid forth a pouch of his own after a long moment of watching the fray. They watched for a few more moments. Athis was already beginning to turn green, which was an almost amusing look on the dark elf, while Farkas was still going strong. Which wasn't surprising, seeing as the dark elf was as thin as a willow, even though he almost matched Farkas in height.

Carefully slipping bait underneath his words Vilkas continued. "It's been a while since anyone's scouted the area. I don't trust those greyfeet staying low like this. It would be good to have a shield sibling at my back just in case the lowlifes dare to show their faces."

It was the closest thing to humor Vilkas could muster, but it seemed to do the trick as Skjor almost choked on the mead as he laughed out loud. It seemed Aela had caught onto Vilkas's request as her eyes squinted with mischief.

Grayfeet was the nickname they had oh-so lovingly given the Silverhand, after a long night of heavy drinking. The supposedly silver clad warriors were nothing but dull unshone metal in the Companions' eyes. In the Companions' defense it seemed funny at the time. Especially since the battle before they'd coined the term had wound up with the Silverhand retreating like the rats they were. The first Silverhand to hear the joke afterwards did not share the humor; though it was beyond entertaining once the Companion's realized the bastards actually did have grey feet, stained from poorly made armor. It was an incident that they agreed to never let Elriah hear of, knowing it would only prompt questions that did not have pleasant answers. One question being why a grey pair of feet had been left on the doorstep of the elven embassy.

A memory which left Vilkas sipping his mead with a grin.

Aela nodded in understanding to Vilkas's words. "I can't blame you for that, shield-brother. I'll accompany you just in case they show up..." Her tone slid as her grin grew.."That is, as long as I get half of the gold from the job."

With a nod Vilkas agreed and finished his drink in one long draw. No point pretending to turn down such company, or the gold that quickly became his own as his twin did indeed win the shield. Even with his headache Vilkas couldn't help but smile as his twin showed the prize off to his husband proudly, gaining an embrace along with a kiss on the forehead as a reward.

  
  
  



	2. Rest, Relaxation, and Realization

As time went by there was no denying the utter relief Vilkas felt when the party finally decided to die down as night settled upon the city. Most of the noise ceased, other than the hired hands who happily cleaned up after them, leaving the warrior's headache much less piercing. His shoulders sagged as the throbbing subsided into a dull ache. And now that there were no eyes watching his every move, Vilkas was finally able to retire to his room below. The door closed between himself and the overwhelming stench of mead, aiding ease to what was left of the headache even more.

Luck however did not appear to be on Tovar's side as he was found slumped at the bottom of the stairs, leaving the other Companions to step over him as they entered their private quarters. None bothered to move him, unwilling to deal with the drunk further. Though, as the Harbinger walked by he simply reached down and plucked the unconscious drunkard by the back of his armor and carried him off towards the warrior's personal quarters.

Vilkas unclasped his armor as he began to change for the night. Sleep was likely to evade him yet again, but he hoped naively that he would be wrong. Sadly his mind had been too active, too unsated from lack of wandering to allow any decent nights rests. The warrior's thoughts were jumbled after the celebration and drinks. But one thought stood out amongst the fog. At last he could leave Whiterun and soothe his appetite for adventure. Desperately the warrior hoped it would be enough to appease his own personal curse, not unlike an offering. If nothing else at least there was promised gold after the job - Which he already planned to spend on books from the next traveling caravan.

His wrist guards fell away, and were quickly kicked under his bed. The warrior was too tired to care for once if the metal clasps scuffed the floor, now that his mind was focused on the gold. The caravan always managed to get him what he wanted. Better yet he never had to worry about how either, as they knew they were better than selling any Companion stolen goods. At least to some degree. But there was a silent agreement that if the goods were stolen from a bandit's den, High elves, or the Silverhands, it was something he could easily overlook. As well as happily pay extra for.

With a huff, followed by a thud, Vilkas fell back onto the bed. He draped an arm over his eyes as if to block out the non-existent light of the dark bedroom. Slowly, as the bed claimed him, pulling him deeper into the furs, Vilkas's thoughts began to unravel and disappear. Never before had a bed felt so good. The smell of musty spilt ink that pooled along the desk's dust did nothing to budge the warrior. The room was his own little world: free from the nagging of citizens or worry from the fellow Companions. Only his curse would disturb his rest now. Sleep edged at his mind, bringing him closer to sweet unconsciousness.

Perhaps he would be able to rest, after all...

Perhaps he spoke too soon.

A loud knock sounded at his door, quickly replacing his hope with sudden annoyance.

With a groan his arm fell away from his eyes as he sat up. Though he didn't bother to get out of bed, seeing as the door had already been opened. A hairy face already peaking in, annoyingly unannounced.

Light poured in from the hallways' torches, dappling the walls it could reach. Vilkas squinted.

"Sorry," the intruder mumbled sheepishly. Farkas invited himself in, closing the door behind himself before claiming the chair next to his brother's bed. His large hands rested on his lap. Fidgeting under the irritated glare from Vilkas.

The glare was interrupted as Vilkas rubbed his eyes, smudging the war paint further. He knew he should have washed it off, but paid no attention to it. He was too tired to care. It could be bothered with in the morning. Then again, he'd thought the same the night before, yet here it was, still an issue.

Vilkas sighed. "What do you want, brother?" He asked, no small amount of annoyance dripping from his voice.

Unbothered by the tone Farkas waited a moment more, gathering his words. "I know you haven't been doing so good. Just wanted to tell you to be careful." The fidgeting slowed. "Not asking you to go out of your way to avoid any fights," The mountain continued. "Just don't do anything I would do."

Out of everything Vilkas had expected, his brother's words had been the furthest thing from. He was left blinking in the dim light - as if making sure the man he was seeing really was his slower brother. The bewildered silence ended with a huff. "I've been fine," Vilkas shot back. "A little cursed blood won't change that. I've dealt with it this long, and I'll continue to do so. If I was going to be concerned over something, it's Aela! She can be worse than a bear when she wants to be." He laughed sarcastically and ignored his brother's last comment, as if it had never been spoken. He didn't plan to get into any unnecessary fights like his brother, who now only seldom did. He hadn't lost control of the curse that much.

Farkas, however, didn't appear convinced as he leaned forward in his chair. His bushy eyebrows knitted together as his hands tightened their grip on themselves. It was clear he was thinking on how to word what he was going to say. For once, he didn't delve off into it straight forward, blurting out how he felt.

Vilkas felt a brow rise. Perhaps, his brother's husband had finally rubbed off on him in that regard.

"We both know that it's not just a little. It's started to make you act differently. You're more brutal now. The other Companions, and Elriah see it too." Each word came slowly, punctuated with rare thought. "You didn't stop hacking at that last bandit 'till we pulled you off. And there was nothing left of the guy but bones and mushed pieces."

"Pah," Vilkas spat none too kindly at the accusation. "You make it sound like I went mad! I had to make sure the bastard was dead."

Farkas caught his eyes and held them with such a sharp look it made Vilkas pause. The stern, almost ghostly visage of their own father stared back. "More like you just wanted as much blood and gore as possible. Face it, it's not just you that needs this hunt."

Whatever magical effect the gaze had held was quickly shattered. Vilkas bristled in anger as his beast was spoken of so blatantly. Farkas knew better than to bring it up, yet here he was, warning him about what he already knew. No sugar coating, not blundering brotherly worry, just harsh reality thrown straight to his face. Vilkas sighed as rage bubbled up. Now was not the time to lose his temper. Farkas was only concerned about him after all, Vilkas reminded himself, and was a tad bit drunk. Vilkas reigned back his annoyance as best he could.

Which sadly wasn't much.

"It's no hunt," Vilkas assured his brother. "We're going to eliminate poachers and get back before anyone else can take the next decent job." The room fell quiet as his words hung in the air.

Farkas mulled them over, hands loosening their grip ever so slightly, as the knuckles returned to their pink hue. He eyed his brother, scanning for the telltale tenseness that would fall on his shoulders when he'd bluff.

"You don't need to worry about ..." the thin comfort fell short as the words lodged uncomfortably in Vilkas's throat. He swallowed, trying to force them loose. He tried again, hoping to shake off the doubt that lingered on his brother's face. The next attempt was almost successful, but his voice betrayed him with the quiet tone. Instead of the carefully-thought words that lined up so well, truth managed to slip through his lips. "Poachers won't put up a good fight anyways."

Farkas undoubtedly realized the true meaning as his expression flickered with worry. Vilkas flinched. He was in for a lecture now. And just when sleep had almost been possible.

The lecture never came.

To Vilkas's surprise, his twin stayed quiet instead of jumping upon the blunder. Instead, Farkas only smiled sadly. Which was almost worse. "You know what's a good hunt...? Mages." Farkas nodded sharply, as if he'd just answered the biggest question of their age. "You miss and they give you a reason to chase. Pretty damn fun actually. At least until you get your ass froze and have to walk it off for a mile." Farkas blushed, chuckling nervously under his breath as his large hand scratched at the back of his head. "Don't let Elriah know I said that."

A sudden bark of laughter tore from Vilkas, breaking through the seriousness that had hung in the air. He remembered all too well the time Elriah had accidentally frozen his twin. "Aye, remember when Elriah set you ablaze, thinking you were some mad beast?"

Farkas grinned. "How could I forget! That's one way to tell a fiance you're a werewolf, right?"

Vilkas rolled his eyes, displeased at the smile his twin wore, as he admitted the curse. But somehow, a smile tugged at his lips as well, "Aye, at least he didn't think you were jesting. Hard to, given you were covered in fur."

"Yeah," Farkas grinned, "Nothing's funny about having to put out your flaming fiance."

That of course made Vilkas snicker as a mischievous light rose in his eyes. "Flaming is right," he teased. Which earned him a hard blow to his ribs, dealt by his twin's armoured elbow. But even as hard as it struck, the pain never came.

Vilkas even laughed, shaking his head as he raised his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, he was never flaming. You just happened to mistake our Harbinger for a woman when you first met, which is clearly a good enough excuse for what started your relationship...almost two years later." Vilkas teased. He didn't dare bring up his brother's late wife.

Ulmar nodded sharply. "Damn right. But hey, Vilkas?"

"Yes oh sharp-witted brother of mine?"

"Call my husband womanly again and I'll break your femur."

"Duly noted."

After sharing a laugh, the brothers fell into comfortable conversation as the torches outside began to wane. Even in the pitch-black room they saw each other clearly, including the expressions that the honored warriors wouldn't dare make in public. They spoke of times where jobs had been plentiful, then of months where they had worked together to clear caves and kill bandits. A few times Vilkas made a few playful jabs at their Harbingers expense, but would be rebutted by a few well-placed words by Farkas who would point out the stupidity of their long forgotten feud.    
  
Eventually their chatting eased back to comfortable silence. The brothers shared it for a long moment until Farkas finally decided his brother was going to be alright, and stood. Farkas went to leave the room, but as he took the handle in his large hand, he looked back at his twin.

"I mean what I said, you know. Be careful out there." The worry was replaced with honest concern.

"Aye, I know. Now scram, so I can get some sleep or else I'll have to throttle you!" Vilkas warned, moving as if to get up. Farkas played along, putting on a face of mock horror, which was quickly broken by a grin, before escaping from the room. He closed the door behind him with a resounding thud.

With the silence flooding back into the bedroom Vilkas found himself feeling better than before. As if a weight had been removed. He thought about mulling over the loss, but forgoed it instead to try and chase down his much needed sleep. Again Vilkas fell back onto the bed, tugging the thickly lined blankets over his shoulders. The lingering trail of his brother's scent mixed of booze lingered comfortingly, helping him ease even more into the comfort.    
  
Sadly even with the comfort sleep evaded him for a long while until slowly his mind was clouded by the words of his brother and the smell of the hunt. When the morning knock finally arrived he'd only managed to snag away a few hours. But surprisingly he felt more awake than he had for days. As he rose from the bed and donned his armor, he failed to notice the slight ebbing glow of magic underneath his pillow, subtly cast by their Harbinger to aid his rest.


	3. Cold Gysters and Colder Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A B I G thanks to PercServal for commenting and alerting me to the name changes! Somehow my auto-correct decided that 'Astrid' was a better name than 'Aela.' I fully blame the HHTYD fic I've been working on for teaching it such things lol
> 
> No fucking clue why it changed Vilkas to Unwin though

Eastmarch winds lashed viciously against the Companions' armor. It shrieked, slicing through the trees as their limbs thrashed. The Companions pulled their furred cloaks closer, pressing on despite the cold. The crunch of their footsteps through the frozen snow was muted under the noise of the wind. As was everything else. They couldn't hear their own steps.

Even when the chill crept between the armor's seams and bit at their flesh, the warriors forced themselves onwards. Their viking blood lent it's aid, though they still shivered as the chill persisted.

While Eastmarch was usually unforgiving, the land felt particularly cruel towards the warriors. Something felt oddly bitter and out of place among its snowy grounds. No animals crept, nor did birds dare to fly with such harsh winds. There was no explaining however why the shadows between the trees seemed to reach further, ever closer to the snow packed roads, slick under the heavy boots. The traveling warriors shared a cautious glance. To the naked eye nothing stood out of place, however their instincts tugged at them, warning them in tones that were undeniable. Something wasn't right. They continued to watch ever closer to the frozen world around them.

Aela had picked up on the pungent feeling miles back and kept a hand hovering by her sword. Their journey had started eight long days ago, yet only now, near the center of the hold, had the instinctual unease set upon them.

Vilkas dared to glance towards Aela from the corner of his eyes before avoiding another bothersome boulder that jutted from the path.

Aela's mouth was fixed in concentration as she scanned about, eyes never staying in one place. The silence, other than the screeching wind, only enhanced the unsettling sensation - but neither dared to speak.

It was for the best.

Talking could lure whatever beast or enemy their way, or worse yet, allow one already crouching nearby to be left unheard. Even if they did manage a conversation amongst the bellowing winds, Vilkas knew it would only end about the curse they shared. He was tired of the beast that haunted his very existence, and wanted nothing more than to be done with it. Yet his shield-sister reveled in it.

Vilkas kept his hand close to his own weapon, a tall greatsword. It was times like these where the bitter reality of being cured of the curse set deeper. What if his senses became too dull and he couldn't hear the next time an opponent snuck upon him or a fellow unturned Companion? Even now with the beast blood he felt deaf, but without the added aid...Vilkas forced his attention back to the road.

Aela was now in front of Vilkas looking around for any sign of a camp. The wind had died down enough that she finally dared to speak. "So Vilkas, I hear you've been rather ... tense." She toed around the subject while her voice stayed firm. "Are you well?"

Vilkas replied shortly. "The beast-blood has been calling to me, nothing more than that." Vilkas pretended not to take note of how carefully Aela had chosen her words. The lack of brashness stood out, further than the eerie feel of the land. "...Though the lack of sleep hasn't been helping," he added. Anything to give her an answer so that she wouldn't pry deeper.

Aela smiled knowingly, though it didn't reach her eyes. She understood the blood more than any other Companion could hope to claim. Even Elriah had found himself going to her for guidance in the past when it came to the beast. "Sounds to me like you just haven't had a good hunt. Nothing else can clear the mind and make for a better night's rest." The fact Vilkas didn't disagree worried him. "Come, let's hurry and get this job over with. I don't like the feeling I'm getting from this place. The sooner we find the poachers and get our pay the better.”

“And the sooner we can return to the mead." Vilkas nodded stiffly in agreement.

They continued their trek deeper into the landscape. The wind had begun to ebb and the land gave way to geysers that sent plumes of warmth that chased away the snow. They dotted the landscape. Vilkas watched them, remembering his childhood curiosity at how such things had come to be. As it turned out most legends claimed they were caused by deep gouges of Magic that had caused the water to spring forth.

Which was why Vilkas never dared get too close, or gods forbid drink from it.

As they ventured forth, more and more appeared, while the feeling only grew stronger.

It didn't take long after that to find the camp. Without the snow to cover the ground, scattered carcasses rose from the uncovered land like pillars, easily catching their eyes as they drew closer. Carefully the Companions crept. There was no sound from the poachers' camp, nor any sign that they lingered nearby. Even the fires had long burned out, leaving behind smoldering ashes that continued to smoke.

Ragged tents rose from between the lines of carnage. Aela pulled her bow and quickly shot into each of the tent's open flaps, revealing that even they stood empty.

With a quick sweep of the area the Companions began to inspect their find. Scattered arrows cracked underfoot, sending bugs frantically buzzing into the air. Vilkas spat as he wildly shooed them away, hand crashing through a cloud so thick of them that he could feel the wind from their wings.

Aela had gone to investigate the center, leaving Vilkas to note the skinned deer and rabbits lying on stones mid butcher. Whoever owned the camp had warped the term poachers into a dismal understatement.

Elk carcasses dotted the grounds. Though the rough butchering, which Aela pointed out, was beginning to look more like a possible mauling, and made it impossible to tell how many had originally met their fates before being drug to the horrid camp.

The Companions looked at each other and nodded, confirming the other’s suspicions. The animals had to have died elsewhere. For all the bodies there was barely any blood, and the places that did were mostly from those who had been caught by traps. It was another discovery that had sent Vilkas snarling with disgust, as some of the wildlife had traps still held fast to the frozen bloodied legs.

Clearly the poachers had no small amount of traps if they didn't bother to collect them. Vilkas shook his head as everything came together.

"Vilkas," Aela spoke, voice quiet yet easy to hear over the silence that fell over the camp. It was low as it simmered with unspoken anger. She was kneeling near a collection of rabbit carcasses tied together by rope. Her eyes burned at their mistake.

"Aye." Vilkas glared down at the elk by his feet. Wisps of warmth leaked from its parted muzzle. He didn't waste time drawing his sword and burying it in the still breathing throat. The animal gave a gurgled cry before finally falling silent, finally dead.

He withdrew his blade and cursed.

Vilkas was too disgusted to be surprised at how long the beast had lived, given it's legs had been severed completely. His face twisted. "We've been tricked."

Out of all the corpses only some had begun to seize and stiffen. Whoever had managed to cause such chaos had done so quickly and with startling efficiency. There was no possibility that someone had taken notice and gotten the message to them so soon with the corpses so new. Not unless the bastard had been able to see the future, which was impossible, even for their Harbinger.

Aela withdrew a knife from her hip. Even it’s small blade was etched with the Companions' insignia. "At any rate, I'm not letting these fools waste more than they already have." Her knife began to prod at the hides, determining their state. Anything that looked mauled was ignored."We could use the supplies." She shook her head bitterly. "What a waste..."

Vilkas continued his search while she spoke. It took Aela little time to gather the meat before wrapping it in taunt cloth and placing it into her rucksack, leaving her shieldbrother happy to have her aid.

Vilkas was glad she had offered to accompany him, even more now with the discovery of the trap. As a hunter Aela was always prepared to gather her own supplies should the need arise. Even poached meat was better than stale bread and dried salted meats if nothing else; But Aela also knew how to butcher their enemies before they even knew what was happening. And for that he was thankful.

By the time Aela stood, Vilkas was glaring down the hill that dipped down from the camp's southern edge. He was quiet, squinting fiercely at whatever lurked below.

Aela's knife silently slid back into the sheath as she reached for her bow. "Do you see the bastards?" Her voice was barely above a whisper - but it was heard. Even from ten feet away where Vilkas stood.

His only response, an offhand grunt, was loud enough to say they didn't need to hush. The look of disgust said even more as his lip curled and he turned away from the sight. "Aye, I see them alright," Vilkas sneered as he shook his head, turning to spit to rid himself of the horrible taste that filled his throat. He motioned from Aela, pointing towards the grueling scene below.

Remains of werewolves and the disemboweled bodies of men stared up at the Companions; their eyes still wide open - the fear that had gripped them in their final moments still clear, frozen in time and rigormortis. There was little left of the mystery now. The carcasses had lured the werewolves directly into a trap. But not just the ones below.

The Companions had fallen for it.

The winds shifted, bringing forth stench of the carnage that drifted from the battleground.

Vilkas's stomach rolled as another realization drew clear. Emaciated ribs jabbed upwards underneath the blood soaked furs, blatantly echoing the deep crevices between them. The wolves had to have been desperate to fall for such a blatant trick.

It filled the Companions equally with rage. Whoever had done it had also hoped to lure the Companions to their doom. But what was worse was the fact it had actually _worked_.

Aela surveyed the scene with a face as stone cold as the corpses below. The silence between them was charged with a renewed hatred, fueled by the blood before them. The final piece of evidence all but shone like a deadly beacon in the sunlight as a long silver blade stood buried into the back of one of the werewolves - blood splattered up to its very hilt.

With the wind finally faded away, a much worse sound quickly took its place. Thousands of small wings beat furiously with hungered glee. The same sound that had bothered Vilkas just moments before. The insects revealed in the scene of a battle not long passed.

"Good thing you brought me along, Shield-Brother." Aela's voice echoed with the same fury that flickered to life under Vilkas's skin. "It looks like we will be taking care of your blood thirst after all." There was no humor in her tone.

"It was a trap.” Vilkas spat. “The bastards…." Aela nodded grimly. He ignored the comment of his beast, finishing with a bitter grumble. "The Silverhands just don't know when to quit."

Flies landed on the corpses’ opened eyes and danced about the wounds they crawled inside of. The bugs would never be plagued with starvation unlike the werewolves they feasted upon; they had won from the loss of others and feasted on their victory.

Aela sniffed at the air before heading down the embankment. She walked respectfully around her fallen brethren, though did not care enough to step over the Silverhands. Nor did Vilkas. Her heavily armored boot crunched a silver corpse's nose straight into his skull.

Unlike Aela, who commanded the field as she walked, eyes glaring at every silver corpse - Vilkas took his time. He waited before following her, making certain that no life lingered in the bodies. It was the least he could do now that they had been tricked.

Whether he hacked the throat of the nearest Silverhands to be sure or out of spite was not a question he bothered with.

The corpses led them further, drawing them deeper into the foreboding feeling that lingered over the field. The array of carnage had ended far behind them, but the streaks of blood continued. Something, or someone had managed to leave the battlefield. 

Whether it was a pack werewolves who’d returned to human form and fled, or the Silverhand, neither Companion was sure. Nevertheless the footprints dragged, showing that the survivors had not left unscathed.

Aela smiled darkly with intent at the discovery. If they were indeed Silverhands there would be no second escape for them.

Slowly the snow, which was thicker away from the geysers, gave way rubble as the tracks ended. Bloodied snow was slippery underfoot. Soon, the Companion’s found themselves in front of a garrison that they’d much rather forget still stood.

Its walls had crumbled into disrepair in eyons past, leaving even the tower slanted and sunk into the earth. The supposed fortress had been nothing more than a spruced up guard barracks before the great war, in which the founding Companions had fought, but now had fallen into glorified rubble.

The Companions knew where they were as the dread from before sank into place. Skjor’s warning echoed.

“Gallows Rock,” Vilkas cursed. He adjusted the greatsword resting on his back.

“Skjor almost died here,” Aela glowered. “Let’s not make the same mistake.” She’d dragged his shaking body from the torture rooms herself. It was a memory that would not be soon forgotten - and still yearned for revenge.

Aela drew her sword before pressing closely to the first section of broken walls, looking for any signs of the bastards she hated so deeply as she crept forward.

With a quick thought Vilkas snatched the rucksack from Aela’s back, and stashed it along with his own in a nearby barrel. The empty supply containers rested next to the wall, awaiting their collection. They were new. Or at least new enough to endure the harsh weather.

The Silverhand, as Vilkas had assumed, had been lying in wait.

Vilkas’s nose scrunched as the smell of stale mead hit his nose. “We don’t need to be weighed down in case of a fight,” he explained briefly. “There will be blood spilt today, but it won’t be ours.” It was spoken as a promise which bloomed behind a growing darkened grin. “That is, if you're ready to slay some silver bastards”

Aela’s sharp teeth exposed themselves as she echoed the grin wickedly. “Are you?”

“Aye.”

“Then lead the way Shield Brother. Begin our hunt.”

Without another word the pair slid in through the crooked doorway of the fort, side by side. The hunt for the Silverhand had begun.


	4. The Find

  
Severed heads of werewolves stared accusingly at the Companions, glaring with dried cracking eyes. Aela snarled quietly while Vilkas was left swallowing his disgust. Some of the decapitations were jabbed carelessly onto pikes, while others hung from hooks; tongues lolling out of the open bloody maws.   
  
The worst still had their spines, jutting awkwardly from their ghastly stumps. And in macabre decor, it appeared that the dried sinew still clung.

Almost in a crude attempt at amusement, Herbs also hung from the rafters above the gruesome scene, strung from beam to beam, while underneath sat rotting barrels that lined the walls. Needless to say the herbs did nothing to mask the smell of death, but they figured that wasn't the point.   
  
Either way, the heads were new, and the herbs hadn't dried.   
  
Torches were lit, giving way to the only source of light in the darkened hall. The distant glow of its warm glow left shadows on the planes of Vilkas’s face, throwing dark hollows beneath the curve of his cheekbone and pooling at the corner of his mouth. While for Aela the shadows caused her eyes to gleam as dangerous as her blades, orange light echoing the fire of her eyes.

Their lust for revenge guided the Companions as they slowly started to creep down the first and only hallway which led down, further than the torches could cast their glowing gaze. It wasn't unlike walking down the throat of some giant beast. And the smell would certainly lend it's help to such imaginings.   
  
The slightest sounds of their armored boots on the damp stone floor accompanying them.   
  
Aela’s arm shot out, barely stopping Vilkas from stepping through a curved stone doorway. The wood had rotted straight off of the hinges, leaving the door halfway propped in front of where the opening would be. Just around the corner two Silverhand sat around a makeshift cooking pit; their backs facing the rotted doorway. One was an older Orc while the other was a Redguard woman - both easy to kill if their plan held well.

One of them, the Orc, snickered lowly. His voice was rough, openly exhausted from what the Companion's assumed was the massacre from outside. “If Brandr hadn’t been so jumpy we coulda dragged some of that meat back with us!” He laughed again, voice grating their ears. “Sure was funny seeing him jump every time those werewolves twitched though.”

The woman to his right let out a belting laugh. It echoed loudly down the corridor, cruel and clear. Vilkas squinted as it sent his head ringing again. Aela flinched as well with a grimace, followed by a glare.  
  
Vilkas figured Aela had already decided her first target.

“Damn right! I wouldn’t mind something other than bloody fish. First he starts on about how horrible these monsters are and then he saves the best stuff for ‘em!” She shook her head. “I don’t get it, I tell you. But he can’t walk by a dead one without jumping out of his hide.”

Vilkas’s brows pulled together in thought. Something about her words didn't sit right, but he didn't have time to ponder.

Aela notched her arrow, and with grace slowly lowered it until it was leveled perfectly with the Orc’s head. Vilkas rose a brow. Not the target he expected, but as long as her arrow struck, then he couldn't be bothered.  
  
There was no need to say their plan. Years of fighting at each other’s sides had left them perfect attuned. All that was needed was a nod. Vilkas corrected his grip on his greatsword as his beast blood boiled - yearning for the thrill of a fight. It was almost maddening to feel the pulse under his skin that was not his heartbeat. It was a heart none his own, preparing to pounce - fueled by the smell of prey before them.   
  
Vilkas finally gave the nod.

The arrow flew with a sharp whistle before hitting it's mark with a sickening **_SPLURCH._ ** It struck the target, burying itself deeply into the very, albeit small, brain of the Orc. He slumped, falling from his seat only to tumble directly into the open fire.

The smell of burning flesh quickly turned unbearable as it soured the room - but that was the least of their worries. 

Vilkas snapped back into reality and lunged forward. Before the other Silverhands could be ended by Vilkas’s blade, the woman gave a shrill defiant cry, pulling out her silver sword - only to slash at Vilkas with surprising speed. He parried the blade with his own. Luck had left his side. Somehow the silver tipped edge still managed to knick his cheek as it ground against his steel. It stung like poison as his flesh bubbled - but the searing agony only fueled him more.

The scream had been their downfall.   
  
Already, other Silverhands could be heard charging towards them as it echoed down the corridor - the boots sounding like thousands as the volume grew. Aela finished the offending Silverhand with another arrow, and with utmost speed she exchanged the bow for the sword.

Vilkas almost felt disappointed as the body slumped away from him, sending the silver sword clattering onto the mossy stone below.

Aela grinned wolfishly at her brother, and gave him a competitive wink - which Vilkas returned as he nodded. His disappointment was forgotten. Even a blind man could see the mischievous gleam enter her eyes.   
  
The hunt had begun, the game was on, and Aela was already in the lead.

As the first Silverhands charged through the door Vilkas decided to give his fellow Companion a competition. His beast blood was set ablaze as his sword found its first victim.

She’d have to fight harder than that.

The sound of screams mixed violently with the clash and shrieks of metal against metal. Shadows danced upon the walls as they mirrored the fight taking place in front of the mounted torches.The fire sent a hellish glow over the massacre - but somehow it was only fitting. The fighting echoed in the stone halls, and resonated like thunder in the prison cells below.

Aela parried a blow from a mace as her brother cut the advancing attacker down. Swarms of Silverhands surrounded them now as they entered the makeshift dining hall. It was unbearably cramped - and the thick beams that held up the weakened ceiling became obstacles in their way. For every blow the Companions dealt, and ever Silverhand cut down, the Companions received twice as many blows in return.   
  
Aela grit her teeth as she slid - forced back as a hard blow against her sword sent her reeling.

The battle was not going as planned.

Vilkas wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him as an attack collided with his stomach. His armor managed to deflect the war hammer, but the blow still left him gasping for air. He turned sharply as he swung with rage aiming for the bastard’s head. The Silverhand managed to step out of the weapons range just as it cut through his beard. The knotted clump fell onto the ground and was stomped into the dirt as the battle continued.

The shaved man bellowed in rage.

Aela’s laugh rang above the noise as she caught sight of the sheared face. She quickly cut down a fellow human as she moved closer to cover Vilkas’s back. The now beardless man lunged forward, weapon held high as he dove it for a killing blow. Vilkas met the weapon with his own. The force wracked up his arms as silver bit into the steel. The jolt threatened to pry his fingers open from the sheer force of it.

“Not today,” Vilkas snarled through his teeth. He threw his weight against the sword, sending the man stumbling back. The Silverhand had no time to block as the warrior’s sword sliced open his stomach, cutting easily through the leather armor.

Aela stabbed with her daggers as the Silverhands forced them to fight in tight, even closer, quarters. Vilkas never did understand how she held so many weapons on her person - but that was a question for another day. The Companions stepped over bodies as they wrestled with the enemy. Slowly they began to gain momentum as they pressed their backs together to defend themselves. One after another, the Silverhands died or bled out as Aela and Vilkas moved deeper into the garrison.

The perks of being a werewolf, other than the bloodrage that fueled them on, was the ever growing energy that even healed their shallow wounds between their blows.

The commotion continued to echo down the halls, though began to lose volume as more Silverhands fell. Slashes, coupled with countless blows, continued to hack away at their numbers. Until eventually a final scream was heard.   
  
It was soon replaced with the clinking of armor shifting with movement.

Aela pulled her daggers from a lifeless body, more specifically the eye sockets, with a grunt. She was relatively unharmed, though her newly christened armor could not say the same. The sudden change from thin well-worn leather to newer thicker hide made her uneasy, restricting her movement. It left her feeling weighed down; though that was no longer a problem as she decided out-loud to replace it with her old perfectly worn armor once she had the chance. Even if it risked being reprimanded by their Harbinger.

Vilkas could only shake his head in amusement before agreeing with her. There were more dents in the metal on his armor, than there were Silverhands corpses. Their poor blacksmith wouldn't be able to repair it - even with fifty years of skill behind the weathered hands.

Vilkas’ nasty cut on his left cheek, which he’d won during the early fight, was now accompanied with countless bruises as his beast blood healed the worst of the damage. Even the metal of his armor showed the effort from the fight with various scrapes and nicks. Yet again he was thankful for its metal overlays, knowing that without it he would have ended with worse.

“How many did you get?” Aela voiced the question. She looked to him with curiosity as well as barely smothered smugness.

Vilkas smirked. Of course she thought she’d won. “Eight,” he answered proudly and with no lack of his own smugness. “And you?”

Aela’s face flickered to surprise before falling back to a wicked grin. “As did I.”

Vilkas and Aela had settled evenly on the hunt, but soon she claimed to have killed more than he had. She had ‘forgotten’ to count the two they’d met at the door. Vilkas merely rolled his eyes. They were both too tired and relieved to see each other still standing to argue further, even in pleasant jest. Silverhands though generally untrained, always came in droves and this had been no different.

Vilkas plopped down on an oddly placed bale of hay, letting out a groan as his armor threw its weight down with him. As he wiped the blood from his wound on his face with a scrap of cloth, which he’d found, he took the time to look around. They were currently in a wide hallway with cells embedded deeply into the walls on either side. The old makeshift dungeon. A pungent tide rolled straight into his nose like a punch. Vilkas coughed, uncertain how he hadn’t noticed before. The smell of blood and rot was almost overpowering, suddenly stronger than even the corpses outside.

Aela stood at the end of the hallway, checking papers and books that were scattered upon a single table. Her nose was scrunched as well. Sadly she wasn't far enough to escape the stench. A stack of reports was held down by a swort sword that dove through them and sunk into the wood. She used those to distract herself from the smell.

Vilkas turned the cloth over and dabbed the blood away before holding it over his nose as he looked towards the cells.

Bodies of werewolves could be seen behind the bars, as well as those of men and elves. Dust settled thickly on the locks, though the cruelty of the Silverhands knew no bounds as some of the bodies had clearly not been dead as long as the dust had existed. Vilkas grimaced as he thought of the beasts withering away in their cells after the locks were sealed with a sickening, final click.

“Think these poor bastards belonged to the idiots outside?” he wondered aloud.

He didn't receive an answer.

Aela wrinkled her nose at the smell of rotting flesh and tried to ignore the sound of flies. At least it wasn’t as gruesome as the valley. But only because the numbers were so minor compared. She moved to stand by her fellow Companion, her stride powerful and proud after such a fine hunt.

“Thankfully your cut is not deeper Shield-brother, or you might not be able to ramble about such things,” She noted with a playful tone. Her hand perched on a wide hip. A hip she’d used to crush a skull in the not-so-distant past.

Vilkas shot her a gloomy sneer. “It will take more than a mere scratch to put me down, I assure you.”

She smiled as she noticed his shoulders relax. The hunt had done him well. Even his eyes were less clouded now that his beast was finally satisfied. But she knew better than to dare say so directly to her shield-brother.

Aela sat down on top of an overturned crate and began to inspect her sword. Relative silence filled the foul smelling room as the Companions carried on their small tasks. It was akin to a ritual to rest and take the time to not only calm their beast blood, but tend to their weapons as well. It would never do to go into battle with a dull blade or an even duller mind. Elriah had instilled the practice after becoming Harbinger; and even the stench wouldn’t prevent them from the task.

Aela cleaned her blade thoughtfully as her mind went over the bodies of the wolves outside, as well as the ones that lay bloated just mere feet away. She was a warrior and as such had seen many things, including corpses of dear friends, and even her father. Yet seeing such proud beasts turned into nothing more than decrepit shadows of their former selves never failed to send her blood boiling. Had they not found Skjor he would have suffered the same fate. The newest Harbinger had even fallen prey, almost dying by their hands, as their last Harbinger Kodlak. Yet somehow they lived. Unlike the beasts that surrounded them now.

Aela was almost thankful as a sound distracted her from her thoughts. Instinctively she scratched at her ear. Just another fly buzzing about, she assumed. Though as the sound continued even Vilkas paused as it crept through the previous silence.

The Companions stopped, falling eerily still as they focused on the noise. It would not be wise to be ambushed again by Silverhands. But as they listened Vilkas’s brows knit together, as he and Aela shared a troubled look. Beyond the flies another familiar sound slowly unraveled and revealed itself. Raspy breathing drawn in by shaky and pain filled breaths. A sound they had heard far too many times sputtered by fallen brethren.   
  
But this was from no brother of theirs.

Aela looked up slowly as she put her hand up in a motion to be cautious. Vilkas snarled under his breath, gaining a glare from his sister. Surely they had killed the Silverhands that had held up in the fort! Either way the source couldn’t be a threat if it was as bad off as it sounded. That did not stop his curiosity from gaining hold, however. He didn't let himself take into account the corpses that surrounded them may not have been as dead as previously hoped.

Eventually their eyes landed on one of the cells in unison as they traced the sound back to the source. Aela stood slowly, carefully inching closer, blade drawn and ready. Cautiously they approached before peering through the silver coated bars. Another reminder of the Silverhands’ cruelty.

The sight made Vilkas take a step back in sheer disgust.

Rotting skin laid open and blistered on what looked to be a crumpled corpse. It was lying on its stomach with only a pair of moth eaten trousers clinging to the emaciated form. Yet again Vilkas wondered if he had been right to assume the werewolves had belonged to the fallen pack. The cage smelt fowl, only enhancing the disgust for what they saw inside.

As if the sight hadn't been bad enough, they were gifted with worse. A large gouge was carved from the werewolves exposed back, revealing bloody bone and dried exposed muscle. Juts of vertebrae rose from the blackened rotting flesh - the bones picked almost clean from where they appeared.

If not for the shallow sound of breathing the Companions would have never known the person was even alive - nor had assumed even in their worst nightmares.

Vilkas gagged and covered his nose and mouth. The smell of rotten blood and singed flesh was horrific and overpowering now that they stood in front of the source. Burns. Gouges, bones, and even burned fesh. As if they couldn't have tried to kill the bastard more.

Vilkas’s stomach rolled again harshly as he bit back the urge to heave.

Never before had he been so affected.

But never before had he seen such a gruesome sight.

“Smells like us, and a werewolf at that,” Aela whispered lowly. _Human_. An elf might be able to survive such wounds, but not a mere man. It was as if she didn’t want to disturb the werewolf in front of them. The body continued to swallow its shallow gasps of air, oblivious to the warriors that stood not three feet away. Aela sheathed her blade and knelt in front of the bars.

“What are you…?” Vilkas began to question his shield-sister before glancing at the lockpick in her hand. He fell quiet as he received a reprimanding glare. It was rather obvious now.

“What does it look like? I’m going to open this damned door and put the beast out of his misery.” With precision Aela began to work the lock. Even with her careful touch the metal scraped against rusted gears - sending an awful sound that grated their senses. Dust flew off as the lock was disturbed.

“Why waste time fidgeting with the damn lock? He could shift at any moment,” Vilkas pointed out. His hand jutted towards the beast. “Just use your bow and be done with it!”

Aela gave a crude huff of laughter. Her voice louder as she realized the dying man probably couldn’t hear her anyways. “Poor beast couldn’t change if he wanted to. No, if I do it by hand, I'll make sure it gets done right. The beasts already suffered enough.”

Vilkas couldn’t argue. Aela was right; whatever the werewolf had been through had left him little threat. And for a moment he even felt guilty for suggesting such a thing. The poor bastard deserved to at least die at a fellow werewolf’s hand, instead of the pierce of an uncaring cold arrow.

Without warning the lockpick shifted and bent in Aela’s hands. She cursed as she replaced it. Aela was an expert lockpick, but not even a master could even begin to predict whatever contraption disguised as a lock the Silverhands would decide to use. And apparently this one had gears that would clamp down and twist at any wayward lockpick.

As if to contradict Aela’s previous assumption, the sound of the new pick rattling in the lock echoed into the cell. Vilkas’s eyes flickered and squinted. For a moment he thought he’d seen the slightest movement. It wouldn’t do to have a feral werewolf on their hands. He blinked as he realized he’d been right. The werewolf within began to stir as long thin fingers grasped at the stone, almost hauntingly slow.

The Companions’ breaths stilled as the movement became more distinct and controlled.

Maybe it was horror, or disgust, but more likely it was morbid curiosity at how far the living corpse would get. For the short moment any thought of an honorable death had slipped from the Companions’ minds.

The body shifted as a face tilted creakingly towards the Companions. He trembled from the effort as he struggled to keep his head off of the ground. The werewolf’s eyes stared empty as he turned towards them.

Aela had been right.

But the ghostly eyes were far from the worst they saw. Vilkas grunted and winced at the sight of the crude and malicious torture device. A thick collar, if it could be called that, was wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. But worse, it was made from solid silver. Around the collars rim blisters and burn marks peered, suggesting even worse, possible irreversible trauma underneath.

Long matted hair was left stiff from dried blood and dirt, though stray bits managed to cling to the stranger’s dampened forehead, leaving its natural color to be questioned. His hollow eyes were clouded and bloodshot. The soft blue color that was left viewable was overshadowed by the dark heavy bags underneath.

Aela paused for a moment to stare back at the creature before returning to the lock, refusing to show that the sight had fazed her. The only discernible clue was the slight shake of her head, directed at the horrific condition, and the swift change of her pick’s pace.

Vilkas kneeled carefully beside Aela as he watched the caged man study them in return. His eyes drifted eerily towards Vilkas, and as their eyes met Vilkas could feel the hairs on his neck stand on edge. The werewolf blinked with uncaring blank eyes.

“By the gods,” Vilkas whispered under his breath as the light of the torches hit the strangers turned cheek. Now that he was kneeling nothing was left between the light and the werewolf’s cell. Deep shadows danced upon the rough raised ridges of his skin. “What in Shor’s name happened to you?”

The young norseman said nothing in response. But he didn't need to. For his face was burned on the right side in one clean bloody streak, and the wound alone spoke for him. From the hairline down to the top of his cracked bloody lips, the burn traveled, searing them slightly as well. Yet for as horrible as it seemed the eye underneath the burn continued to blink without difficulty. It surprised Vilkas greatly. There was no brow above it.

The werewolf continued to watch the pair before him, eyeing the lock with squinted eyes. The movement slowly became more clear, more controlled. He’d begun to clench his hands - only to relax them before tightening them again. And sadly there was another discovery as Vilkas noticed that his nails looked as if they had been torn from his very fingers.

Vilkas scrunched his nose as he smelt the foul unease as it began to roll off the lad now that he saw what was to come. It was only a matter of time until the lock would open. He knew that something was going to happen, though whether it was to help or to harm was a mystery. Vilkas scowled. He didn’t look forward to putting him down now that he saw the fear. Especially now that he realized he couldn't tell if it was a lad or a man under all that damage.

He didn't want to kill a child. Even if they stood on the cusp of adulthood.

A satisfied click chimed from the lock. And for once a quick movement occurred as the werewolf jolted, trying to move away. The wounds that had managed to scab tore open from the movement with an ungodly wet ripping sound that echoed in the cell. The stranger groaned. It had been the first human noise he had yet to make, and it repeated as he sunk deeper into the stone floor with pain.

But only seconds later the sounds of pain morphed into a deep resounding growl, directed at the Companions. The fact that he even had the strength to voice such a sound was almost amazing in it’s own gruesome way. Dust even fell from the locks at the raw power of the sound as it tore from the raspy throat.

Slowly the Companions stood as the werewolf eyed them in fear; frozen by uncertainty and pain. Their long shadows cast deeply within the cell. Even while wheezing from exhaustion, his feral eyes never left the door or the warriors before him. They were as feral as his voice as he bared sharpened fangs.

A blade scratched against its sheath as it was drawn.   
  
As Vilkas turned, prepared to look away as the throat was about to be slit, he almost missed the look of utter human fear that crossed the werewolf’s face.

Aela startled slightly in surprise. But not from the beast.

Vilkas had placed his hand upon hers, stopping her from drawing her blade fully.

“Wait.” Aela’s brow arched, though she listened as Vilkas proceeded. “I want to try something.”

Aela gave the slightest bewildered nod for him to proceed.

Feral werewolves never showed fear so openly as the stranger now was. It was something Vilkas couldn’t shake as the feral watched him. His eyes, though barbaric, had softness to them, an understanding behind the dark bruises as he looked at the hands on the sword's hilt. He hadn't been so lost to the beast or the torture to lose his ability to think.

Even though Vilkas did not want to see him suffer, the thought of putting him down was beginning to look just as cruel. He had fought for life, surviving gods knew _what_ before being locked away. Even now he stayed defiant, refusing to close his eyes and accept death. Feral or not it didn’t change the growing respect from the fellow Nord.

Vilkas wondered if there was any humanity left that would understand his words. If not he would have no regrets in granting death, satisfied he was lost to the beast after all, but Vilkas at least owed him the chance to show it.

With surprising gentleness the hardened Companion spoke, quiet and controlled “Do you want us to put you out of your misery lad…?”   
  
The question hung in the air.

The young norseman's face fell still and unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line, hiding the fangs from sight. He said nothing as he blinked slowly and with thought.   
  
He’d understood.   
  
His face remained blank as his eyes reflected the slightest inkling of what looked to be hope.

Aela scoffed bitterly. “Don’t give him false hope. He’s unpredictable; you already saw how feral he is.” Her straightforwardness had emerged. Though after glancing over the stranger she spoke again, this time with the slightest gentleness of her own. “Even if we tried he wouldn’t get far with those wounds. His rot is black. There’s no recovering from that.”

The werewolf shook his head back and forth unsteadily. But Vilkas could tell if he was clearing his thoughts, or denying Aela’s words. Vilkas waited for the answer. Something told him it would happen, though as the seconds ticked by, he began to wonder if Aela was right. Finally the werewolf gave a shallow, certain, shake - eyes on Vilkas’s own.

There it was. There was no misunderstanding in the gesture this time. He’d decided his own fate. But even with the choice clear his eyes, though less harsh, remained guarded. It was enough of a sign for Vilkas.

Vilkas scowled as he felt Aela tug forcefully at her blade. He looked down, casting a heavy glare. “He deserves a chance. He’s already earned the right by making it this far.” As if that would be enough to sway the obvious.

Aela looked back with horror as if he had suggested that she should chew her own arm off.

“Vilkas…” She said the name carefully, as a mother would when telling her son that no, his ‘sleeping’ dog would never wake up. “I agree that it takes honor and spirit to survive such an ordeal as this, but we can’t just let him out. Not even a moment ago he was growling, and not to mention he looks like a damned dragr. Even if we could fix him up, which we can't, it would take more time, supplies or experience than we have.” Her words were driven with calm seriousness. “Humanity can only last so long. Remember when Varric went feral? it would be a wonder if he did not turn on us the moment we’d free him as our own brother did.”

Vilkas felt ill as he listened to her. She had a point that he had overlooked in his moment of _brilliant_ thinking. The harsh memory of having to stab their own feral shield-brother to death...bile rose in his throat. Uwin swallowed it down.

“The best we could do is shove a few potions down his gullet but we don’t have anything that strong,” she continued thoughtfully, her voice softer. “Nor do we have anyone with that strength of magic. There’s not much choice other than to put him out of his misery.” She sighed, watching her brother. “It is a kindness we can spare, one either of us would hope for had we been in his place.”

The werewolf deflated. There was no other word for it as whatever strength he’d managed to summon suddenly vanished without a trace. The stranger couldn't even hold the gaze any longer. His eyes drifted towards the floor.

But it pushed Vilkas with new strength of his own as he pressed on. “Aye, but there’s still a chance, the Silverhands are crafty Bastards!” he argued. Which was true. “They’re bound to have something decent around. But if nothing else we can help the Lad spend his last moments with his...own kind.” He felt ill considering himself a beast. At that Vilkas could see a shift in Aela. Mostly due to her own surprise at his acceptance. Just as he’d hoped. “We could at least try to scrounge something to ease his suffering beforehand.”  
  
Those words appeared to have softened her resolve.

Vilkas could not see another wolf die to the Silverhands that day. Though Aela would be the one to deliver the final blow, it would be the Silverhands’ victory all the same. They would get what they wanted either way, another dead Werewolf. He didn’t want to see another beast added to the list that lay outside. The graves with no names. The memory of flies feeding off of their fear filled eyes clawed deeply at his mind and stomach. They’d all been men, elves, people before their curse, but even a werewolf didn't deserve what had been wrought so cruelly upon them.

After a long moment Aela finally sheathed her sword. Defeated she heaved a sigh, though there was no malice in it. Only begrudging acceptance. “I’ll see what I can find though I doubt there’s any around to make enough of a difference. But as you said perhaps something to take off the edge. If not we put him down.” She cast a small frown the lads way. “Good intentions do little to soothe such pain.”

As Aela walked away, then out of sight, Vilkas found himself moving closer to the cell door. He paused before taking the silver handle in his hand. It felt like fire-charred pine needles were pressed against his skin, even though his armor.   
  
Slowly, stupidly, he opened the cell door only to put his foot inside. He stopped to look over at the lad. The werewolf only eyed him quietly in return. Aela would have thought he’d gone mad to see him approach the injured stranger. Not only minutes ago he had tried to convince her to shoot him through the bars instead of getting so close, but now here he was, only feet away.   
  
Defending him.

The lack of aggression coaxed Vilkas to walk into the cell fully. Now he could see. As well as, sadly, smell. The very reason he’d dared to approach was to survey the wounds. And now there was nothing left to the already gruesome imagination, which was proven a bitter reality.   
  
The warrior slowly knelt down next to the lad, inching his way ever closer to look over the wounds. Still, the stranger made no moves against him. Even as Vilkas slowly slid off his grieves, showing his scar covered hands.

Vilkas pretended to not notice as the werewolf turned its head to watch him as he began to evaluate the wounds. Countless burns and cuts covered the arms and legs, but nothing anywhere near as serious as the gouge in the nord’s back. Serious, Vilkas decided, was an understatement. Rotting flesh was never to be taken lightly, nor was the other clear signs of infection.

“Do you have somewhere we can take you? Family perhaps?” Vilkas asked to distract the werewolf as he began pulling away dead tissue from around the wound. It did little good. The questions went unanswered as the stranger continued to stare back blankly. Even Vilkas had to admit it was rather eerie to have another creature known to kill and tear out the very hearts of its prey staring so intently, calm or not. Then again he couldn't blame him. After all he had his hands in the poor bastards back!

By some weird stroke of luck the wound hadn’t managed to actually damage the spine, Vilkas discovered. But dirt and other grime had wormed its way deeply into the wound. It was no wonder it was infected in such a filthy cell.

As the werewolf hissed in pain Vilkas quickly apologized. It hadn’t sounded quite as feral, and had even hinted at his voice. Which brought a sickeningly strong amount of hope from such a painful sound. Vilkas quickly let go of the wound. He had already crossed a thin line and was not about to take any more chances, especially with Aela not there to help if the man truly did go feral. “Sorry, just had to check,” He promised. “That’s enough for now.”

There was no response.

Vilkas blinked. The silence was beginning to be unnerving. Especially now that he realized he could no longer hear Aela at all, even in the distance.

“So,” Vilkas carefully started again. He sat back, clearly backing off from the wound. The warrior was careful not to actually sit in the disgusting cell, instead balancing on the balls of his feat, while being in some sort of awkward unsteady squat. The armour was damned heavy, but it was still better than sitting in the alternative. “Let me ask you something else. What about your name?” If the stranger didn’t want to share where he came from, it was fine, but the least he could do was share his name. “You can at least say that,” Vilkas pressed.

The injured man merely shook his head. Vilkas blinked in bewilderment. Why wouldn’t he at least give his name? It’s not like he had forgotten ... had he? Vilkas frowned at the possibility. Still, he was thankful to see another sign of human reaction from the shake.

“Now, even you must at least have a name, right?” He tried to tease.

Yet again the stranger shook his head and mirrored the look of surprise as well as confusion that the man had asked such a thing. Apparently the sudden movement made him dizzy however as his head slowly began to sink into the floor. A dazed expression replaced the last.

Vilkas was about to press further when Aela strode back into the hallway.

She held up a large potion triumphantly, if almost sarcastically, for Vilkas to see. There was no doubt however of the pride beneath her smile, and for good reason. It looked like an expensive and likely effective potion. Pure bottled magical essence. Whether it would work enough to make much of a difference however was unknown, but at least it gave them some hope. Aela made no comment about her brother being in the cell as she approached. Her face said it all as an eyebrow lifted in response.  
  
Vilkas answered it with a halfhearted frown.

Any caution Aela had vanished as she decided to sit directly in front of the werewolf. Actually sit, making it hard for her to move if she had to escape. But clearly she didn't care. The poor werewolf looked confused if not a little frightened. Vilkas smiled knowingly. If Aela had made up her mind on helping the werewolf then nothing would stand in her way. The injured man seemed too surprised to react as she slid a hand under his chin and tilted his head.

Things went well until Aela uncorked the potion. He resisted, giving a weak tug against her grasp. But his arms stayed against the ground as if made of lead. “Hey now, easy. We’re only trying to help,” she reminded him sternly. Gentless was thrown to the wind. She waited until he was able to shake the daze long enough to see what she held clearly.

The bloodshot eyes light up like a torch itself as he realized exactly what she held before him.

He stared at the elixir and then to Aela, eyes wide. It was as if he was seeing the goddess of life herself. Aela stayed quiet as the slightest smile pulled at her lips in amusement. The stranger paid no heed to the other Companion, fully captivated by the one before him.

Vilkas held back a huff of laughter at the sight. It was no surprise to be honest, gods only knew how long it had been since he’d been shown such kindness, or seen a woman that wasn’t a Silverhand. In a way the scene was almost cute...in an injured half dead sort of way.

Aela lifted the bottle to the werewolf’s lips, breaking him from the enchanted daze. That was enough for the stranger. He drank the potion unquestioningly. Though was slow to swallow as the potion reached his lips. The raspy throat seemed to struggle to even do something so simple. Some of the potion dribbled through the split of his lip and slowly dripped down onto his chin, taking with it the dirt and blood that had been on his skin. The glowing red liquid continued to swirl and dance with the impurities. Vilkas’s brows furrowed as the moment the potion touched the silver it began to sizzle. Never before had he seen such a reaction. Potions never cared about metals before, after all that's what they were sometimes stored in. Nevertheless, Vilkas forced his attention back to the werewolf, taking note for later of the odd reaction the potion had held for the collar.

Once the potion was finished the lad pulled away and gave the slightest attempt at a small, nervous smile. Vilkas was surprised at how easily the lad could with the burn affecting his torn lips. He was also taken aback by how well the smile had fit on his face when he had been feral only moments before. It was almost frightening to realize how fast the switch had been. Let alone the fact they’d almost sentenced him to death.

The Companion reminded himself that it was still a chance. Better or not, the man still had a better chance of seeing Sovngarde that day than ever seeing sunlight.

Aela still held the man’s face in her hand, even as he made an attempt to pull away. It didn’t take more than a stern glare to still his protests. Her other hand came and found his forehead. A small fever licked at Aela’s palm, turning her expression grim. The stranger however closed his eyes and even leaned into the blessed chill of her skin.

Now all that was left to do was wait.

Silence settled upon the somewhat cramped cell. Vilkas took the time to mull over what he had gathered and weighed possibilities in his mind. His legs however ached in protest. The lad was skinny, though not quite as badly as the werewolves they had come across. Perhaps he had been a fool who had turned to the Silverhands for help after being bitten, falling for their lies of aid? Or, better chance, had once been a wanted bandit who knew better than to give his name to the Companions. The latter wouldn't surprise Vilkas in the least. Either way the lack of a name left quite a gap in their knowledge about the stranger, which was already lacking significantly.

Vilkas yawned. Time felt like it was barely creeping by. Eventually even he gave in, plopping down onto the filthy ground below. One of his legs stretched in front of him as he tried to get as comfortable as he could while donned in armor - Let alone sitting on solid rock in a cramped cell. It didn’t take him long to admit defeat. Without warning he prodded Aela with the tip of his boot. He ignored her sour glance. “While you were gone I asked our... _friend_ here about himself.”

Aela raised her eyes from the werewolf, who had continued to stare at her in awe. She almost seemed amused. “Get anything out of him?”

“Only the fact he can't remember his name.”

The answer made Aela pause and frown. “So you got him to talk then?” Aela tried, looking for a clear answer.

“No. But he shook his head a bit.” Vilkas felt his brows rise. Huh. Somehow a rather pivotal point had slipped by the Companion entirely. “Now that you mention it, he hasn’t said a word.”

Aela shrugged. “Probably got his head knocked a little too hard,” Aela offered. “Like your brother.” Farkas had been struck mute once, but had thankfully recovered. “Or stayed feral for too long. The beasts outside had to have been to fall for such a trap, and he’s certainly thin enough.” As if they hadn't fallen for the same trap. “Though he calms down too well for that, feral outbursts or not.”

The stranger’s ribs pressed against the pale skin, though not as badly as the fallen wolves outside. The werewolf shifted uncomfortably under the Companion’s questioning gazes - but held his own firmly and without the fear from before.

“He’s only a husk of what a man should be. Perhaps that can be changed in time,” Aela spoke as she pondered the sight before her. “For now we will have to call him something while we decide what to do with him.”

The lad eyed them curiously at the notion of a name. Of course the stranger had been listening into their conversation - though unsurprisingly had yet to make any move to join in. As the Companions watched he opened his mouth slightly, looking as if he were about to address the thought. But any words he had been ready to voice seemed to have died as his expression melted into confusion. His one intact eyebrow scrunched, which somehow managed to get his expression across. He gave up and laid his head down on one of his arms, letting out the smallest huff.

The Companions waited a moment more before returning to their topic as the Werewolf continued to watch attentively.

“There’s no need for that. I’m sure he’ll remember it soon enough,” Vilkas continued.

Aela shook her head. The stranger’s eyes were slowly closing as his breathing began to level out to a slower, more comfortable pace. The potion was definitely making the pain tolerable at any rate. Though how well it would manage to heal him was still something they would have to wait out.

“There’s a chance he may not, and we can’t call him scars or skinny bones in the meantime,” Aela mused, finding her remark funny as she grinned. “Well we could, but I doubt he’d appreciate it.”

Vilkas scowled but soon gave a small chuckle of his own. The stranger wrinkled his nose indignantly at the suggestion. Finally, another expression they could understand. It wasn't words as Vilkas or Aela hoped, but it was something.

“Now what do you have to say to that?” Vilkas grinned. “I suppose we could call you the stranger. Give the bards something to crow about.”

The response he received was little more than a glare before the werewolf turned his head away with a huff. Aela snickered as the stranger did his best to avoid looking directly at Vilkas, quite visibly cross at his humor. Squinted eyes still kept an accusing gaze, but it was plain to see he was far from actually being upset as a smile tried to tug at his lips.

“I don’t think he appreciates us joking about his new name.” Aela grinned. “We’ll have to try harder. Can’t have our lead grump out brooded by some whelp after all. Now can we, Vilkas?” Aela coaxed her shield-brother playfully. He nodded as he caught on to her game.

“Aye, that would be a shame.” His tone dripped with exaggeration, but his face echoed his words. “I’ve worked too damn hard on that title so those new bloods don’t annoy me! And to have some stranger change that? Hmph. Not a chance.” Vilkas gently nudged the stranger to get his attention - putting their game into play. Vilkas did his best to ignore the way he flinched. “What do you say, will you forgive me if I find you a name before Aela here can?”

That caught the lad’s attention as he carefully eyed Vilkas, weighing the offer. He shrugged back his reply with a smile himself. Interest flashed in his eyes now that he’d caught wind of the Companions fun - and their own names.

“You’re on shield-brother,” Aela beamed. “I have an advantage you could never have.”

Vilkas sat back against the stone wall smugly. “Oh, and what advantage is that?”

Aela grinned evilly, crossing her arms and leaning forward towards Vilkas. “I’ve had to listen to Singun and her mother prattling on lists of names for her brother’s child. And as luck would have it, they expect it to be a boy.”

Vilkas mocked her with a yawn and a stretch, clearly not worried by her words. Singuns brother was no Companion, but he knew the man well enough. The werewolf carefully watched all the while as the Companions prepared to begin their challenge. Though the stranger smiled knowingly, watching Aela’s face.

“I don’t see how listening to those two prattle on for an hour will help your chance at winning,” Vilkas yawned again. Fighting had worn him out more than usual in the horrid keep.

Aela’s smirk only widened as she corrected him in a dark tone. “An Hour? No, I’ve been stuck listening to them for the last. Two. _Months_.” She leaned in ever closer with each pressed word. Her expression melted into a grin, already staking her claim on victory.

Vilkas blinked in surprise as his confidence began to crumble. A fake smirk was quickly thrown onto his features in a mad scramble to hide it. “I suppose I’ll just have to think of better names,” He shrugged. “That shouldn’t be so hard.”

Aela shrugged with her head tilted and a smile still shaping her lips. “Enough talk, brother. Let’s see what you’ve got.”


	5. A Difficult Moment to Name

By the time the Companions had begun to run out of names, the wound on the lad’s back had started to close over the bone. None of the names however had caught his attention thus far. Torn muscle and skin slowly eased back over the gap. Yet somehow the vocal gap was wider for the name as the stranger blinked, passing each one on with a surprisingly clear face of uninterest.

Vilkas found himself reminded of a cat.

“What about calling him Lucky the Bastard? If he makes it out of here it will be an act of the gods after all,” Aela teased.

Vilkas rolled his eyes. “No. What about…Olaf, like that fur trader! It’s a simple and strong name at least.” He shrugged. It sounded good enough.

It was Aela’s turn to roll her eyes at her shield-brother’s suggestion, which she did full heartedly. “Let’s not forget that we found Olaf rotting in a bandit's den with an axe in his back a month later.”

Vilkas winced at the memory. “Aye. Then what about ...Gunnar?”

“Too common. What about Hlynur?”

“Too uncommon. That’d stand out like a sore thumb! Isn't that a name for priests anyways?”

“Heimskr then?” Aela offered with a teasing grin.

“Are you trying to get him murdered?” 

“At least I didn't suggest Turnip,” she retaliated.

Vilkas sighed, casting a glare at the fellow Companion. “That was a joke.”

“Somehow I doubt that, shield-brother.”

Groggily the unnamed man listened as names were tossed back and forth. The wound was starting to look less like a failed murder attempt; instead taking on the like of a skinning gone wrong. Which somehow in this case managed to be the better option.

Vilkas’s hand swatted over the wound, keeping insects at bay.

Aela shrugged before making her final suggestion. “What about… Husk? For the time  _ being _ .” She stressed. “Given the fact we don’t know much about him, it's the only thing we have.” Pity hid itself in her tone though her face remained thoughtful. “And...well, it’s clear he’s only a husk of what he should be.”

Vilkas scowled at the horrible, borderline degrading name. Who wouldn’t be a husk after rotting away in a cell? “Temporary or not no one will take him seriously with a name like Husk!” He felt personally insulted on the other man’s behalf. “And don't forget he’s managed to live this long! It takes more than a husk of a man to defy the odds!”

Aela didn’t respond as a slow smirk appeared on her lips. It was a smirk of a proud woman, and oh did she wear it well. Aela continued to stay silent under Vilkas’s questioning gaze. She jutted her chin towards the werewolf, in which her eyes had yet to leave. The stranger’s head was tilted in thought, clearly mulling over the name.

Vilkas squinted. If that was the name he chose… Vilkas fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose - instead reduced to shaking his head. Perhaps the stranger had been rattled in the head more than he’d realized. The Companion watched uncertainty from underneath his scrunched brow.

It took little more than a moment for Husk to smile at the two, and even less before nodding his head in agreement. His name had been chosen. The lucky bastard even grinned, somehow proud at his choice. Which of course made the winner, Aela, shoot Vilkas a triumphant smirk as she stood.

In a surprising act of kindness she put her hand out towards the newly named werewolf. “Well Husk, I for one am ready to see just how well the potion helped.” Her smile only grew. “Lets try and get you out of here.”

Husk pailed at the mere thought, smile faltering. He glanced towards her hand, mouth twisted in uncertainty. Vilkas shifted his weight as he waited. Still movement never came as Husk looked to each Companion.

Aela let out a sigh that bordered on laughter, shaking her head. No wonder he was hesitant. “We won’t kill you if you can’t,” Aela clarified. “Now, hurry up. We’re wasting daylight and I for one don't want to drag your hide around in the dark.”

Husk nodded stiffly, though flashed back a meager smile of his own.

Hesitantly Husk accepted. As Aela took his hand in her own she blinked in surprise, glancing down quickly. The werewolf’s hand was scarcely larger than her own. His fingers bore similarity as well, with long fingers that would easily pluck at any bowstring, or perhaps even an instrument. Aela hummed thoughtfully.

“Ever shot a bow?” She asked. When Husk shook his head Aela actually smiled. This would be fun. “No? Well you should learn. Maybe I could teach you,” she continued before glancing Vilkas’s way, “at least then I’d have a decent hunting partner.”

Vilkas huffed, ignoring his own embarrassed blush. Even if his job was killing bandits it was no small secret that the strong Companion could rarely bring himself to harm an innocent creature. Not unless his curse made him, or the situation was dire. Or unless he was damned hungry.

Aela winked at Vilkas - earning an annoyed growl in response that made her laugh.

After gaining enough confidence, Husk took a long shaky breath - catching the Companion’s attention. And as soon as he was certain they’d help, which became clear as they stood on either side, he finally started to pull himself up.

Aela planted her feet firmly against the stone, grasping his hand tightly as she pulled. The strength behind Husk’s grip was weak, but it was still better than she expected, or would have bet on. But sadly neither Companion was surprised when Husk began to sway. Husk hissed as suddenly his knees buckled. But before he could hit the ground another hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder.

“Easy now,” Vilkas cautioned. Husk’s body leaned against the Companion as he wavered, but Vilkas held firm for support. “Take your time...”

Even with their support Husk’s knees continued to tremble. It wasn't a good sign. With a defeated sigh Vilkas and Aela shared a nod before slowly and carefully lowering Husk back down. In an act of support both of the Companions sat alongside him to wait.

Worried glances were shared as the Companion’s watched Husk sagg tiredly. Vilkas chewed the inside of his cheek as he glanced back at the shattered remains of the potion - wondering if it had done enough. He found himself wishing their Harbinger was with them. Elriah would have already gotten Husk back on his merry way; either by death or by the healer’s abilities. But there was no magic to help them now, and Vilkas didn't want to spend time planning how to slice Husk’s throat to end the misery.

Aela hummed in thought. Maybe Husk lost more blood than they'd first assumed. Even though a potion could close wounds and heal bones, it couldn’t fix everything, and it certainly couldn’t make new blood flood into his veins.

Thankfully Husk began to grin, dashing away their worry, overly pleased at the fact he could even sit up again. He gave a quick bow of his head in what they could only assume was thanks.

“Aye, there we go. Holding up alright?” Vilkas asked, smiling as well. It was oddly contagious. Husk responded with another nod as he stretched. The werewolf rubbed at his arms, nursing a rather large bump. The potion had without a doubt at least numbed most of Husk's pain if he could put any sort of pressure onto it.

The trio waited, letting Husk rest for a few more minutes before Aela finally decided enough time had passed and stood once again.

This time when Husk took her hand it was with new confidence. Aela beamed at the change. Husk glanced at each in a silent ask for permission, which was met with a nod of approval from Vilkas. The warrior stayed ready, waiting for the slightest give of the werewolf’s knees.

It never came.

This time Husk had been ready, and as they helped him from the cell the Companion’s noticed something else that was startelling - which for the first time since meeting him wasn't another wound..    
  
Husk stood at least a head shorter than Vilkas.    
  
Of course Husk had seemed small while crumpled on the ground - but they’d also assumed it was a trick of the light, or even the hunger shaping his bones. Now that he was standing there was no question about it. If Aela noticed she made no sign of it, leaving Vilkas to question the odd height alone. Especially the fact that Aela and Husk both stood at an even five foot five.

Husk’s eyes however darkened as he slowly scanned for any Silverhands from the moment they entered the hallway. A hint of feralness lurked behind the blue. It only stopped when Husk blinked in surprise as Aela patted his shoulder.

“It’s clear. We didn’t leave a single bastard alive” Aela reported. She paused before breaking out into a smile, followed by a shrug. “Except for you of course.” She added soon after, “For some reason that I still can't figure out.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes   
  
Husk only grinned, and bowed his head in brief thanks.

“What now?” Vilkas asked before carefully stepping away, letting Husk stand on his own. Husk beamed proudly. Vilkas couldn't help but smile more, but turned his attention back to the fellow Companion. “Do we just let him go…?” He wasn't so proud as to admit he didn't have a plan for if they did happen to save him. Which so far they’d succeeded in.

“Too risky.” Aela shook her head. “No. We’ll take him back to Jorrvaskr,” she decided, removing her arm as well once she was certain their new comrade wouldn’t fall. “The Harbinger will know what to do with him, and those wounds.”

Vilkas didn't argue, shaking his head in amusement. “I wonder what Elriah will have to say once we return to Jorrvaskr with a damned werewolf in tow.”

Aela shrugged at her brother’s question, though frowned at the thought. Neither of them had thought that far. Which suddenly put quite the hitch in their plan. A possible angry, magical, dragon-king killing hitch. “Perhaps we should send word to him first. There aren’t very many options at this point now that Husk’ managed to survive. I hardly see him turning away another werewolf on his doorstep.”

Vilkas didn’t doubt that. Not even two years prior a man had appeared at their door asking for the Companions to destroy him before he could hurt anyone else. Elriah had coaxed the man inside, only to discover that the man was a werewolf who had already attacked two villages. But Instead of fulfilling the man’s plea Elriah housed him in their halls. He’d done his best to help the man... but sadly the beast had won in the end. Poor damned Varric.

The thought of a lost Companion made Vilkas turn to look at their newfound friend - which led him to a new and  _ fairly _ unwanted discovery.

An empty space stood where Husk had been moments before.

Aela’s brows rose slowly until they were at their peak. The room fell silent. Somehow neither of the werewolves had noticed the sound of an injured man, only a couple feet away at most, sneaking away.

Well...  _ shit _ .

Aela let out a low impressed whistle as she glanced around.. “He’s…... fast, I’ll give him that.” She wasn't sure whether to sound impressed or annoyed.

Not an hour prior Husk had been unable to move at all, and now he’d vanished without a trace.

“How the hell did he manage to slip away like that?” Vilkas wondered aloud, bewilderment leaking into his voice. He was damned impressed and didn't bother hiding it.

“Simple,” Aela explained, “It’s the potion. Must have finally kicked in if he was able to scurry off like that. Let’s get a move on. He couldn't have gotten that far, and we’d better find him soon.” She huffed bitterly. “After all that effort I’d hate to find him dead from falling down some stairwell.”

The sarcasm went ignored as Vilkas prepared to look for the missing lad. He was sure he couldn’t have gotten too far ,numb or not, the wound was sure to keep him tired.

They had barely exited the celled hall when they saw the shadow emerge on the wall in front of them. It was the shortest search they had ever been in, to say the least. Husk tapped on Aela’s shoulder lightly for her to turn around. And once she had he opened his arms for her approval.

Vilkas was amazed at how quiet the lad had been, even with his injuries. And now his attire. Husk was now wearing a dusty tunic and faded trousers - as well as a silver dagger in a hilt on the belt that was tightened just enough to barely stay on. He held a shy, yet proud look on his young face as he stood for inspection. The collar still showed, but was mostly hidden by the shirt's wrinkled neck. Its eerie gleam however was a clear reminder that it still held on tightly to his neck. One that sent Vilkas glaring.

Aela scowled at the blade before reaching out and snatching it from his belt. Husk blinked in confusion. But It didn’t take long for him to realize what he had been carrying or for him to pale. Husk swallowed as Aela stared begrudgingly at his choice of weaponry. Vilkas frowned. He must have taken the belt from a Silverhands corpse or bed stand and put it on without realizing what sort of weapon was attached.

Without a word it was curtly thrown off to the side - and dinged loudly as it hit the stone.

Aela took his hand and pulled out her own dagger. He flinched, snapping his eyes shut. But instead of pain the knife was simply pressed into his hands. Husk balked in surprise as he looked to the dagger, then back to her.

“If you’re coming with us you need to be armed, but not with Silver. Take my dagger for now. But,” Aela stressed, even glaring at Husk. “Just so we’re clear, I expect you to give it back once we return to Jorrvaskr. Understood?”

Vilkas grinned at Husk as he finished his own inspection. He couldn’t believe the difference between Husk and the feral they had stumbled upon.

Husk motioned for them to wait, and quickly left the same way he’d just returned. Aela snickered. Vilkas found himself the target of a knowing look. Her eyebrow was raised and her lips were curled in a wicked smile. Vilkas returned it with a glare. He did not want to know what was on Aela’s mind, or what thoughts were hidden behind the smirk.

Husk returned quickly with two small pouches in his hands. He offered one to Aela without a word, smiling nervously. It was a simple coin purse that opened easily as she pulled on the ties. Inside were coins, though sadly some that were rusted, and even a few splintered bits of gemstones that would make quite a few coins on their own in the market.

Aela starred, but finally looked back up at the stranger. “There is no need to pay me for your freedom,” She started. As Husk frowned she continued with a smile. “But I will accept the gift.”

The response made Husk beam even more as he handed the other to Vilkas. Instead of thanking him, Vilkas simply patted his shoulder and nudged him towards the door after Aela who had already left.

Husk followed without having to be asked again, more than happy to follow at Aela’s heels.

Vilkas rolled his eyes.

As the trio traced their way back through the ruins, Husk eyed the bodies of the Silverhand they passed. The corpses were scattered here and there, the result of the earlier failed ambush. They were all dead, unlike the prisoner who walked with them. But that didn't seem to ease Husk in the least. The way he would glare at the bodies didn't escape Aela’s sight either. The expression on the burned face was clear. He was happy to see them dead and left to rot as they had done to him.    
  
He had gotten a slice of revenge from seeing them dead alone.

Aela’s steps slowed until she finally came to a stop and turned to look at the Lad. Vilkas stopped next to her, as did Husk, both wondering clearly why they had stopped in the middle of the hallway.

Aela grinned as she gestured towards the nearest body. “Go ahead, Husk.” She smiled knowingly.

Vilkas blinked.

Husk was nothing more than a blur as he took no time turning to the closest Silverhand. His leg pulled back sharply - dealing a swift kick to the corpse as hard as he could. Which was apparently just enough to throw him off balance…..Even if it barely moved the body an inch. Aela nabbed Husk’s arm before he could fall and laughed as she steadied him. The merry sound echoed in the ruin, oddly fitting amongst the dead. Vilkas soon did the same.

And Husk himself was smiling ear to ear at the fact he had kicked the Silverhand. It might not have been the revenge he had hoped for, but it clearly felt just as good all the same.

The Companions almost breathed a sigh of relief as the open door came into view. Between them walked Husk who picked up his pace. Without hesitation he stepped out into the world, leaving them behind as he smiled giddy the moment he felt the sun upon his skin. His eyes closed, face towards the sky.

The Companions smiled, though mostly to hide their horror as they realized just how pale Husk was. The bruises were even darker on his skin while the burns only grew redder. They shared a glance, as he stood distracted by the sun's rays. He was practically white as a ghost - or more accurately, a bloodless corpse.

Either way, the Companions began their trek back to Jorrvaskr with their new friend in tow - ever aware of the way Husk took in the world like a man who hadn’t drank in years would look at a lake. But he stayed right there between them, never a step behind.    
  
Vilkas and Aela’s arms somehow found themselves draped over Husk’s shoulders.    
  
They’d later swear that they’d never seen a man so happily.


	6. Good Aim, and a Better Arm

  
With Husk in tow the Companions slipped from Gallows Rock’s and disappeared into the snow-covered forest. The trees towered far above them - providing some semblance of cover as they trekked through the cold. Dusk had fallen - as had Vilkas's fur cloak over Husk's thin shoulders. Even under the snowy banks crickets continued to chirp away as did distant owls hooting from beyond the grove.

Husk, who had yet to utter a word, continued to follow them without question. Vilkas had also fallen silent as he watched for any beasts that could catch a whiff of the norseman's blood, hoping for an easy meal. Aela took to the front of their formation, Husk still between them, and guided them on a different path than the one they came from.

Neither of the Companions wished to see the corpses again, nor allow any possible remaining Silverhands to track them so easily.   
  
Nor did they want to expose Husk to terrors that rivaled what he’d already survived.

Vilkas took careful note of their newest traveling companion. For being malnourished, Husk, for the most part, had been able to handle the path well; even with the wounds. The healing potion had done its job and more as it continued mostly numbing the pain. Husk still winced in the corner of Vilkas's gaze now and again, however. Which he almost found amusing, given only Husk's eyes could be seen over the edge of the closely drawn furred cloak. And for the fact his much shorter height left it well past his shins, causing it to drag as snow balled along the bottom.

The Companions had taken careful measure to keep Husk from trailing behind. Their pace had been forced to slow drastically, but they were still making enough time as the sky slowly grew darker. The warriors even went as far as to find little excuses to pause and rest. A stray stone in their boots, checking their rations, adjusting their rucksacks, or just wanting to supposedly wait and see if they were being followed. Each time Husk obeyed silently and without hesitation, though as the Companion's noticed he was also the first one ready and willing to continue on their way.    
  
Neither Companion blamed him for wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Silverhands as possible.

Though as the chill drew closer and their torches began to wane, things began to change.

Aela turned her attention towards their traveling companion, who was still walking between Vilkas and herself. It was evident that Husk was exhausted and sore. Even though he tried to hide it behind a smile, worry gathered along the edges of his unburnt eye. His gaze continued to flicker towards the side of the narrow path nervously - peering deep between the trees. Husk tugged the cloak closer. Aela frowned. The territory of the Silverhand was far too risky to attempt to set up camp in, or near. But Husk would need rest. And with the ever present possibility of danger, Aela couldn't spare her shield-brother's sword arms to carry him.

"Husk," Aela started quietly, casting a smirk Vilkas's way at the name, "I have a question for you."

Husk perked up, full attention on the warrior. Even though he hadn't spoken, his expression said enough. His soft blue eyes light up, almost shining against the dark bags under his eyes. Even his smile had grown more certain. As if Husk was simply happy to be spoken to as he waited patiently for Aela to continue.

"How's freedom taste?"

Husk brightened and quickly gave a little nod. Exhaustion was set over his shoulders, as was the cloak, but it didn't damper his smile - or his lungs as he drew a long happy breath. Husk closed his eyes before breathing out in an audible sigh of pure relief.

"Poor whelp," Vilkas mumbled under his breath. It was hard not to echo Husk's smile. In fact his face felt slightly sore from watching the way Husk had gazed at every tree and listened to every sound as if for the first time. His voice raised slightly. "Been a while since you were out of that cage?"

Yet again Husk nodded - only to stifle a yawn before looking apologetically at the pair.

Vilkas huffed quietly. His hand found Husk's shoulder, giving it a friendly shake, even though he could only feel the thick furred cloak under his palm. "There's no shame being exhausted," the warrior reprimanded softly. "It's been a long day for us - you especially! And you're injured." The potion had done wonders, but truthfully hadn't been enough. "I'm sure we can rest soon enough. If I remember right, we should be reaching the end of their land once we reach the end of this hill."

Husk wasn't convinced. That much was clear as his single brow rose slowly. Husk his best to keep a smile as his eyes flickered towards their path.

Aela only snorted. Husk wasn't dumb enough to believe the Silverhands cared for borders, and neither was she.

As it soon turned out, Vilkas wasn't far off after all. As they reached the end of the path, almost an hour later, a large windmill towered over the cleft of the hill, standing tall and proud amongst the trees. It's aged wood was alight as lanterns rested in each dust covered window. The flames flickered welcomingly. Attached to the windmill rested another building - a woodmill, nestled in turn against a lumber yard. Two smaller structures lazed nearby, assumingly cabins for the workers. Just behind them ran a river which slowly turned the watermill that idly circled. 

Aela raised a hand, causing both Vilkas and Husk to stop dead in their tracks. Aela stayed silent as she eyed the mill - only to finally give in with a nod. "Looks safe. You two stay here and keep watch while I go see if they happen to have any room for wandering Companions." She paused. "And a walking dragr." With that she started to leave, but again turned around. She wore a proud smirk. "Oh, and Vilkas?  _ Don't _ let him sneak off again."

Vilkas huffed. As if he'd been at fault.

Husk, as if on command, moved and sat stiffly on the ground. A soft grunt of pain followed. He'd managed to find a mostly snowless spot under the nearest tree, which also helped guard against the gently falling snowflakes. The fur cloaked was tucked somewhat under him as cushion.

Vilkas sat nearby, keeping both the stranger and Aela in his sights. Personally he didn't think Husk would wander off again, but he'd rather not risk the chance. If nothing else but for the fact he didn't want to have to go looking.

Husk didn't seem to take notice as the Companion eyed him. His attention followed Aela until she was well out of sight; reminding Vilkas of a dog waiting for his master. He also took note that similarly to the cell, Husk wore no signs of tension at being so close to him. Almost as if they'd traveled together prior, and for longer than the mere hours they had. The sheer amount of trust Husk had already put into the Companions left Vilkas conflicted, which only led to suspicion and doubt. On one hand it was good to see Husk being friendly, far from the feral outburst in the cell. While on the other he knew that such blind trust could cause harm later down the line for the man. Vilkas frowned. Perhaps that blind trust had been the cause of his capture.

Either way, Vilkas was pleased that the stranger seemed to trust him enough to let his guard down, which was far better than dealing with a feral untrusting bastard. If he was honest, he'd even possibly go as far as to admit the familiarity between them was a small victory against the Silverhand in itself. A werewolf they hadn't managed to kill, saved by those they despised.

But there was something that bugged Vilkas, no matter how much he tried to avoid the nagging thought. Husk was still a stranger. One that would camp alongside them tonight. And more troubling was the thought of how they would address the discovery to Elriah. True, they'd completed their mission, but what would their Harbinger think when they showed up with a burnt werewolf in tow?

As if Husk had heard Vilkas's thoughts Husk stole a small glance at the Companion apprehensively. His eyes squinted slightly while his single brow furrowed. He stared for a moment before returning his eyes to where Aela had gone.

The Companion was frankly left wondering what had made him deserve such a look.

Yet again Husk again shot Vilkas the look, this time without turning away. Worry now tilted his brow as his gaze passed far behind the Companion and off into the forest.

Vilkas's hand slowly drifted towards the hilt of his sword. A cold chill trickled down his spine. His armor clinked with the movement. But instead of turning around Vilkas found himself watching Husk's expression closely. Worry wasn't fear, but something seemed off.

"Husk...?" Vilkas questioned. The other man had yet to speak, but he assumed he'd at least warn him if there was danger. From where he sat nothing sounded any different in the muted snow.

However Husk's only response was to tilt his jaw, gesturing for Vilkas to turn around. His lips twisted into a grimace and the worry grew into concern.

Cautiously, and against his better judgment, Vilkas followed the advice. Brambles and tall winding trees surrounded them, casting shadows in the dim light of Vilkas's lantern. But as he watched nothing appeared to move. Not even a breeze disturbed the foliage as snow gently continued to drift from above. Still he watched, eyes and ears trained for the slightest change. Crickets continued to chirp while an owl hooted from a distance, yet as a long moment ticked by nothing appeared. Vilkas found nothing of concern.

Giving up with a sigh Vilkas turned around. "Probably just nervous," he supposed quietly to himself. "Not that it's surprising given...." His voice drifted off as his eyes fell back onto Husk. Husk had managed to inch back a bit away, but that wasn't what worried the Warrior. Husk was holding a stone in his hand. Before Vilkas could ask what he was doing, or raise his arms to block the possible attack, Husk had already thrown his arm back and sent the stone flying.

**_TH-KRACK!_ **

A resounding  _ crack _ rang out from the bushes as the stone crashed against something hard. Vilkas didn't have to wonder what for long. A large body slumped from underneath the brambles,and its yellowed sharp chisel teeth glistened in the lantern light. Vilkas stared blankly at the body that fell just inches from his knee. It was a Skeever. But not just any Skeever. "By Shor’s beard..." Vilkas breathed. The damned thing had to have weighed at least twenty pounds, not including the stone that had embedded itself deeply into its skull. Dark red blood sputtered from around the rock and stained the crimson snow. A surprised strangled noise escaped Vilkas as the rat gave a twitch - which in a flurry caused the warrior to kick out and send the corpse skidding a few feet away.

Silence fell over the men - other than the wet  _ splurch _ ing sounds of the rat in its death throes. After a long moment a new sound filled the silence.    
  
Laughter.    
  
It was soft and merry, almost bell like if not for the coughs that followed.

Slowly Vilkas's gaze rose towards Husk, jaw slacked in surprise. He wasn't sure what shocked him more - the fact Husk had managed to embed the tone so deeply, the fact he himself had been utterly clueless of the creatures whereabouts, or the fact Husk was actually  _ laughing _ .

Husk smiled nervously in return. He winced and rubbed his arm, the laughter now gone and replaced with a proud squint. After all, the warrior who had saved him had also squealed like a little girl.

Vilkas was left shaking his head as his own laugh escaped.

Husk's arm had to be good if it could bury a stone into the very skull of the creature. Especially while injured. Suddenly taking Husk back to Jorrvaskr didn't seem like such a risky idea after all.

"Good aim," Vilkas praised with a nod. "But next time just tell me what's out there before you start flinging stones by my head. Aye?"

Husk grinned back at him before chuckling quietly with a little nod.

Vilkas smiled in turn.

It wasn't long until Aela reappeared. Her stride was confident, bringing good news for the tired men with it. "We're in luck! The Mills owner has agreed to spare some beds for us. He said it's filthy, but it should be more than enough to get us through the night." A little grime wouldn't make any difference to the proud warrior. She was just glad to have an actual rood over the injured man's head.

Like any inquisitive sister it didn't take long for Aela to notice the smile that Vilkas tried to hide. Her interest only grew as Husk smiled as well, though did nothing to try and cover it. In fact the burnt stranger looked rather pleased with himself.

"I take it something happened while I was gone." Aela didn't even bother to really ask. She knew her Shield-brother well, and in that moment, like every other, she could read Vilkas like a book.

That, and the fact there was a rather giant dead Skeever still twitching nearby.

Aela's gaze fell back to Vilkas with a raised brow.

In return Vilkas sent his own glance Husk's way, asking him to hush, and shrugged. "Aye, it's a real mystery, that." As if Husk would have spoken at all.

"I see." Aela pursed her lips as she pretended to consider the possibilities. A hip was cocked to the side while her hands idly tapped in thought against them. A sly grin colored her features. "But what was it I wonder?"

Vilkas gave a helpful shrug. "Perhaps Husk here was telling me about how much he liked our earlier jaunt."

Husk openly huffed in amusement, rolling his eyes.

"No... I don't think that's it." Aela raised a curled finger to her lips. She walked past the men - and directly over, and on, the Skeever. The warrior pretended not to notice again and spun around, walking straight over it again.

Vilkas grinned. Aela was rarely playful. Sarcastic and teasing, yes, but this was a side that he hadn't seen since long before Elriah had joined their hall. "Mayhaps you're right. After all it takes talking to, well...  _ talk _ ." Vilkas crossed his arms in jest and to stay warm in the absence of his cloak. "Perhaps he wrote the message down in the dirt?"

Aela hummed and looked at the ground before them. Crimson blood stained the dirt near their feet. But of course she wasn't about to ruin the fun with trivial common sense. "No that wouldn't be it.... Vilkas, you wouldn't be misleading a fellow Companion would you?" Aela feigned a hurt glare, arms crossing. A hand gestured towards Husk. "In front of company no less!" A grin twitched at her lips as she fought to keep a serious expression.

"Company." Vilkas echoed flatly. His brow rose.

Aela nodded. "Company. Husk is accompanying us to Jorrvaskr. My logic stands." She didn't give him a chance to argue with that. "As a Companion you should be setting a good example. We can't Husk thinking the Companions lie to their own."

Husk watched the pair bicker, and bit his lip in an attempt to hide his growing smile. It left a stout albeit sharp canine exposed as it dipped against his pale lip. His shoulders occasionally twitched with silent amusement.

It was Vilkas's turn to be playful as he pulled himself to a stance. His arms crossed dangerously as his brows furrowed. "That's a hefty accusation, from a fellow Companion no less!" The moc anger deepened the warriors tone, though the humor in his eyes gave him away.

Aela nodded sharply. "It is! Sharper than your wit it seems."

"Aye, maybe so but it's not as sharp as my blade."

"Was that a challenge?" Aela eyed the fellow Companion as her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword.

Vilkas's eyes squinted dangerously, a forced snarl on his face. The very corners twitching up in amusement. "I taught you everything you know, sister," he reminded the fellow warrior coldly. "Though if I wanted a challenge I'd take on something worth the fight. Possibly a drunk." Vilkas fought a smirk.

"Or a Skeever." Aela offered. Her own glare vanished just as quickly as it had come. The warrior chuckled and shook her head. "I have to say, I've never seen you kill anything with a stone before. Caught you off guard?"

Vilkas echoed her chuckle with a huff. "Aye, it did. And you still haven't."

"Oh?"

Vilkas continued, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "Our  _ company _ here took care of it before I even knew the damned thing was there! Damned good arm." Praise edged his voice.

Aela hummed and glanced over at Husk with new found approval. "Even in your condition..? Good. Looks like you're better off after all."

Husk shone at the praise, raising his head slightly with a smile that had rivaled any of the others he'd given that day.

Vilkas shook his head. "Wait until he's back on his feet. We might have a new Companion on our hands." He'd meant it teasingly - after all it took years of training and trials to even reach the apprenticeship of the Companions; but as he spoke Aela's eyes brightened as she glanced over Husk.

"You may be right." Rare approval weaved its way into her words. "Survived a gruesome wound without assistance, kept feralness at bay, able to reign himself in when it started...." Aela held her chin between a forefinger and thumb. She nodded slowly. "It's certainly something worth looking at. Perhaps we'll fill our hall yet."

Husk blinked owlishly, taking in Aela's words. His brow tilted in confusion, but his eyes matched her glow. Hope flickered behind the soft blue gaze, along with something else that Vilkas watched with surprise.

_ Purpose _ .

Vilkas wasn't sure what kind of life Husk lived before being thrown into the cell, but something in his eyes told a story that lingered just out of the warriors reach. Vilkas swore he'd seen the very expression before on a familiar face no less, but sadly he didn't have time to dwell on the thought.

"Enough daydreaming. I don't intend to waste time that I could spend resting." Aela shouldered her rucksack. The time for jokes had passed. "Let's head in."

Vilkas grunted in agreement. Husk was a mystery, but not one he had time or care enough to solve. Maybe if the burnt man stayed around long enough he'd be tempted to form kinship; but for now Vilkas had to remember that Husk was injured and that was of higher importance than banter.

The warrior offered an armored hand towards Husk, which after a brief second was accepted. He still couldn't believe how little the werewolf weighed, but that was fixable. With time. Time they were wasting.

Vilkas turned towards the Mill. Husk followed as the warrior disappeared from view, leaving Aela standing alone. Her arms crossed as she stared at the Skeever’s corpse.. The sheer depth the rock had been thrown into its skull.... Aela frowned slightly. She was impressed, and worried. With a sigh she shook her head and kicked the rat away from the trails. The corpse rolled into the brambles as blood dripped from its maw. Aela's face twisted in disgust. The damn thing smelt like it had been dead for weeks.

In fact... Aela took note that patches of flaky skin were exposed where fur had apparently fallen off in clumps. "Stay dead," she ordered as she raised her leg - and brought it down as hard as she could to ensure just that. The rat's skull all but splattered under her boot like a rotten gourd. Dark scarlet splattered against the Companion's armor.

With a silent scoff of disgust the warrior scuffed her boot in the snow, dragging chunks of flesh that had clung to its sole.    
  
Aela turned and left towards the millhouse.


	7. An Unexpected Find

Vilkas had quickly decided the building wasn't fit to be called a bunkhouse. In fact, he decided, as his nose scrunched, that perhaps the Silverhands hideout managed to have a more cozy appeal. And less dust.

Dust ladened cobwebs hung heavily from the rafters above, while the makeshift cupboards, which had no doors, were thickly coated in what appeared to be an awful chalky mix of dirt and ash. As were the presumably empty boxes and broken table that was shoved against the far wall.

The filth however couldn't hold a candle to the mounted heads of taxidermied boars and weathered bears. Even the once noble beasts were not spared from the dust as it coated their already clouded eyes and pooled thickly over their tongues.

Husk's lips twisted in a grimace as he eyed the trophies warrily.

"He never claimed it was decorated," Aela pointed out from the doorway. Even so, she didn't look too thrilled either at the establishment. "or...inviting."

Vilkas scoffed. The room was good enough to sleep for that night, and that was all that mattered. Even if it was a pigsty. "Careful, you're actually starting to sound like a woman!"

"Funny, given all your complaints I assumed you'd taken that mantle."

Vilkas rolled his eyes as he dropped his rucksack onto one of the beds. "At least it's not my blood spilling." Dust flew in every direction - leaving Husk to cough into his sleeve. Vilkas grunted an apology.

"True, but I wouldn't put it past the gods." Aela's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I've heard of worse curses."

"Aye," Vilkas shot back under his breath. "Though I doubt any are as bad as you."

Aela only grinned.

Husk followed suit and finally moved from the side of the doorway, though he had no bag to place he simply took off his belt to place it on a bed. The borrowed blade rested in its sheath, still threaded through its loop. Carefully his hand pulled away as he eyed the warriors.

Vilkas nodded his approval and Husk stepped back, taking his place again near the door.

Once Aela had also unloaded her pack she drew out some of the meat she had harvested from the ambush. In return Vilkas began to start a small fire in the fireplace that rested across from the entrance. Out of spite Vilkas decided to use the broken table for kindling.    
  
It didn't take long for the fire to spark to life, and even less for Aela to place the meat above the blaze on the cooking spit.

Companions were efficient, but the pair in question moved in perfect sync. Years of fighting and living at each other's sides had left them as close as any warrior to their blade. They were almost an extension of the other's arms as they worked to prepare the meal. Every time Aela placed the next cut of meat, Vilkas's hand was already there to sprinkle what smelt like seasoning. However, it was a bit more than that.

Vilkas took another pinch from the little bag that he'd pulled from his belt. Carefully he sprinkled it evenly, coating over the raw flesh as it sizzled and sputtered.

"Spice," Aela explained. She didn't bother to glance over her shoulder at Husk. "Mixed with ground yarrow bark and cracked Redlin pods. Aids healing." She also didn't bother to try to list the various other herbs he could never quite pronounce.

"And better yet adds some actual flavor," Vilkas added.

“If you can call it that.”

Vilkas chuckled as he added more wood, this time the tables cracked leg, to the blaze. "Aye."

Husk nodded in understanding. His eyes, and attention, occasionally flickered towards the meat before turning towards anywhere else about the room. He sat on one of the beds as he watched the pair, already been ordered by the Companions to just rest.    
  
He had no intention of going against their will.

Alea cut off another piece of raw meat before impaling it on a metal spike to rest above the fire. Which gave Vilkas the perfect opportunity.

The warrior had practically been able to feel Husk's eyes watching them both, and the cooking pit. And now that the man was distracted by the newly added meat, Vilkas was finally able to steal a full on glimpse of Husk. The look on Husk's face made Vilkas wonder as Husk stared intently. For a man with a burn on his face he certainly didn't seem unnerved by the fire.

Husk was sitting still, yet his eyes followed the food as if he thought it would vanish completely.

Vilkas frowned. Just how long had those locks been on the cells?

"So Husk... when's the last time you've enjoyed a cooked meal?" Vilkas asked. He tried not to sound too interested, but Aela still caught his eyes and raised her brow. Vilkas glared sharply in response.

Husk however didn't speak, which was becoming to worry the warriors. Though he did give some semblance of an answer and shook his head. His eyes glanced away from the cooking pit. This time he apparently found a broken bottle of mead quite interesting, or more likely as a viable excuse not to watch the meat.

His nose twitched.

Vilkas grunted in annoyance. He could accept if Husk was a mute - but that didn't answer his question at all.

Aela cut off another piece of meat and repeated the process as Vilkas echoed with his spice.

"Well then, when's the last time you ate?" Aela had voiced the question; this time more specific. She didn't bother not to sound curious, though her eyes stayed trained on her task.

Husk hesitantly held up three fingers.

Aela glanced up. "Three days?" She knew it was certainly more than three hours, given the fact they' been traveling for longer than that.

Husk shook his head and twitched his fingers.

Aela's face fell blank - then hissed as a spackle of fat flew from the fireplace and onto her hand. She shook with a curse and raised it to her lips.

Vilkas snickered - and wound up elbowed in the side.

It was Aela's turn to snicker, but she didn't. "So I take it you mean three... weeks?" Aela clarified slowly, frowning. Her brows came together worriedly.

Sadly Husk nodded, verifying the time. Three full weeks without a meal. Husk glanced towards the floor, trying, and failing, to hide his shame.

As if it had been his fault.

Before anyone could speak Aela was already shoving a piece of bread into Husk's hands, snatched from their supplies. " _ Eat _ ," She ordered. "Slowly. Don't make yourself sick but get it in your stomach.” She shook her head and went back to work. “It's a wonder the potion worked as well as it did."

Vilkas stared at the man blankly. Not even his signature glower could have hidden his horrified shock. Unknowingly his hand crept towards the hilt of his sword as he turned to glare towards the fire. The Silverhands would never cease to disgust him with their heinous cruelty.

Husk however didn't take a bite. He stared at the bread for a moment, as if trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it. His eyes flickered from one Warrior to the next. Again his single brow sloped in uncertainty, coupled by the slightest frown.

Aela motioned for him to continue.

In that very moment any worry vanished and he took a quick yet small bite. His face lit up in euphoria. The bread was nothing special, stale even, but that didn't seem to matter. His eyes closed as he bowed his head in thanks. There was a clear tightness in his jaw that showed just how much he was restraining himself to keep from chowing down.

Aela handed Husk her flask of water. Before she could blink it was downed; making Aela's smile at the delight on Husk's face. It was almost childlike to see Husk so thankful.

It was also borderline pathetic as well, Vilkas decided.

As the meat roasted Vilkas stood and left to get water from the river that flowed from behind the mill. By some miracle he managed to scrounge up a bucket from their room that wasn't littered with holes or splintering at it's wrought. He left without a word, leaving Aela to talk quietly further about the spice with the silent man.

Outside Vilkas found himself even more annoyed. At the Silverhands, at the tortuous intent, and towards himself for thinking so low of the man they'd saved. Even if it had only been for a second he'd felt the disdain as deep as he had for the rat the very man had slain. Even though Vilkas was a proud warrior, he was nothing more than a bastard with a title and armor. At least that's how he felt as he stepped onto the bank.

Vilkas had to remind himself he'd barely been able to rest for the week prior to their job, let alone during it. Otherwise he would have never thought such a cruel thing, certainly. The Companion's crest that hung loosely above the Companion's chest plate weighed further on his mood. Vilkas needed sleep. But Husk needed much more.

To be honest Vilkas was beginning to have his doubts about taking the Lad to Jorrvaskr; but at the same time felt obligated to see that the werewolf stayed safe - and watched. The trek back to Whiterun was long for even the weathered Companion’s, but for an injured man? It was almost cruel.

Vilkas dipped the bucket into the cold river before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. There was nothing else they could do but take Husk back to their hall. The current tugged on his hands as it flooded the offered bucket quickly.

Vilkas knew it was his duty as a Companion to help a man in need, no matter what Husk was or how long it would take. The acceptance however did nothing to calm his mind as he thought again of how pathetic Husk was slowly showing to be. How would a man like that survive a day at Jorrvaskr, let alone the trip there? Sure he had killed the Skeever showing he could defend himself, yet he had also been so damn careful about taking the measly scrap of bread! While starved! Less of a man, more like a beaten dog-

"Give it a rest," Vilkas growled to himself. The lad had gone weeks without food and here he was looking down on him for simply being thankful for a piece of bread. His stomach twisted as he realized how bastardly he was acting. It was going to be a long damned trip if he couldn't manage to get a hold of himself.

Husk had already gone through enough. Vilkas refused to add more to the cruelty.

By the time Vilkas returned with the water, the pair inside had already begun to dig into the meat. Husk was focused as he downed the rabbit, not even bothering to look at Vilkas as he closed the old creaking door behind him. Though Husk had heeded the warnings on eating the bread, clearly his mind changed when it came to meat. He dug into the cooked flesh, and as Vilkas watched he saw Husk's sharpened canine teeth ripping meat straight from the frail bones.

The warrior took back his previous thoughts on Husk being pathetic on the spot.

Vilkas's hand jolted as Aela took the bucket from her Shield-sibling, snapping Vilkas back to reality. Aela pretended as if she hadn't noticed and set the water by the hearth. Soon their canteens were refilled, followed by a soaked cloth which pointed towards Husk.

"Finish up and get your shirt off. Those wounds won't tend to themselves." Aela wrung out the cloth. She snapped it, sending the blaze hissing in agony as stray drops splattered onto the cynders. "And lie on your stomach while you're at it." The order barely managed to sound friendly.

Husk eyed her warrily but did as he was told. He was cautious but there was no doubt he already trusted Aela. Especially after the meal.

Vilkas's eyes squinted. Something felt like it'd been entirely skipped along the way, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. The warriors' eyes widened slowly as they trailed to Husk's scarred hands.

The bones from the meat were nowhere in sight.

Vilkas barely kept himself from sighing openly in relief when he realized the bones, which were picked clean, had been tossed by the fire with the other scraps. He shook his head. He needed sleep.

While Vilkas's attention had been caught on a bone, which Aela would indeed tease the werewolf mercilessly for later, she'd taken the time to actually do something useful. Such as evaluate Husk's wounds. Her calloused hands traced the edges as she peered closely under the fire light.

The gouge on Husk's back had already healed considerably. The new flesh was vaguely translucent, ironically like a newborn rat which had been dragged out into the sun by a predator. Perhaps the beast would have been more merciful. Veins pulsed under the sickeningly pink surface. At least the Companions could rest easy knowing that the spine had been hidden ...albeit under muscle that, while clouded under the flesh, could faintly be seen.

Aela never would have thought she'd been relieved to one day see a failed murder attempt begin to look like a failed skinning.

Husk still had a ways to go.

Vilkas blinked as his hand was suddenly soaked straight through the armored glove. Dumbly he looked down, only to realize Aela had forced the rag into his hand.

"You decided to play hero, your job to tend to him." Aela left no room for argument as she walked away to dust off her decided bed, leaving Vilkas to do as he was told.

Slowly he glanced towards the bed.

Awkwardly the armored Companion stepped closer. Usually he would have shed his armor and set it aside neatly - if there hadn't been a stranger, or his sister. A stranger who was silently regarding him with blue eyes that were set hauntingly underneath the bruises and scorched flesh.

Then again those same eyes belonged to Husk, who smiled cautiously.

Vilkas did his best to ignore the fangs.

Cautiously Vilkas took a seat on the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress. Somehow he managed to stay on, even though it looked like he was doing his best to keep a healthy distance between himself and the other wolf.

Aela snorted softly from across the cabin.

Husk simply blinked and glanced back towards the wall. As Aela had instructed, Husk was lying on his stomach leaving the large, though healing, wound available. The trust that had been granted to Aela apparently branched out for the other Companion as well. There was no question of that as the once feral Werewolf didn't even bother to look worried in the slightest.

Vilkas however still eyed him carefully.

"You're wasting torchlight," Aela pointed out. The newly lit latorch had somehow appeared nearby.

Vilkas grumbled in return, ignoring the grin in her voice. He wasn't  _ afraid _ of Husk. But caution was always a good idea. Especially when it came to a burnt up werewolf they'd quite literally dragged up from the brink of death, and from an underground prison.

With a quiet grumbling sigh Vilkas began. At first he tried his best to be gingerly as he drew the cloth over the sensitive flesh. Not only for the poor bastard's comfort, but also to gauge just how much Husk could take. Even though Vilkas had practically shoved his hands into Husk's spinal cavity just hours before. Still, the Companion tried to be gentle. The bucket waited at his feet. However that didn't mean he was afraid to apply pressure when necessary. Which sadly it was. Vilkas scowled as he pinched a pebble with his fingers that had been caught in the new flesh, wrenching it free. Flesh clng to it. Vilkas mumbled a gruff apology before tossing it into the fire.

His nose twisted with a gramance as the cabin filled with the putridly sweet stench of burning flesh. Though his frown mostly came from the sharp pain-filled inhale that caught in Husk's throat.

"Smart move," Aela scoffed.

Vilkas ignored his shield-sister.

From there on out Vilkas continued to mumble an apology whenever Husk would wince from pain. He lightly wiped the burns around the silver as well, causing Husk almost whimper as the toxic metal lashed out against each swipe of the rag.

Any other sounds Husk would have uttered were left muffled away in the crook of his arm, which also cushioned his head.

The collar sizzled dangerously.

From the other side of the cabin Aela's eyes rose, fixing sternly on the silver clasp.

The Silverhands, not unlike the Companions, were well known in the land. Although nowhere near as dearly to the people of Skyrim. No, the Silverhands were known as pillagers, murderers, and witch hunters who would cast their deadly gaze on anyone who didn't seem quite human. Woman, elder, child - who made no difference to the Silverhand. But unlike the actual witch hunters who'd been destroyed so long ago, the Silverhands were not as kind as to burn their victims alive.

Which sadly was evident as the crude collar held tight around Husk's throat.

Even a measly villager knew that Silver was the perfect weapon against anything beastly that stalked the night. Apparently the Silverhand took that a step further, forcing the werewolf to wear it as not only a horrific torture - but as a sign to anyone else of the true beastly nature that dwelled underneath Husk's cautious smiles.

Aela hummed quietly to herself as she rummaged through her rucksack.

They'd need to either remove or cover Husk's collar as soon as possible. But she didn't hold out hope for the prior. Just like the Silverhand’s lock, she was certain they'd been just as crafty with the silver band.

Vilkas, who's dark hair hung over his brow, had taken to the same train of thought. So far neither a lock or nor a clasp on the collar had shown itself. Not even a scratch appeared on the scourged metal. Vilkas grimaced. How could there be? The disturbing memories of the fact they'd torn the very fingernails from Husk's fingers now haunted the forefront of his mind.

As Vilkas peered closer something finally did stand out. A grin finally broke his glower. A thin molten line stood tall against the rest of the band, raising to meet the flickering lamp light.

"Welded," he reported matter-of-factly.

"Which means no exploding locks to worry about," Aela replied in turn. She nodded towards Vilkas, a plan already forming.

The Companions ignored Husks nervous glances.

While being welded on did take away some of the bigger possible issues, such as exploding locks, it also made the collar worse in its own way. As in, it had been welded together directly against Husk's neck.

Disgust filled Vilkas. There was no other way it could have happened. Another look over confirmed there were no other possibilities, adding to Vilkas's growling list of annoyances. It would take nothing less than a blacksmith to cut the torturous thing off.

Which left them having to find a way to cover it.

Vilkas returned his attention to the matter at hand and continued to care for the wound. The warrior oddly enough had an eye for detail as he looked about for any bits of dust or dirt that had escaped him. He'd traded the sword for a rag, but in a way it was still a battle. In this case it was a battle against infection.

"Here's your warning," Vilkas announced as he started to scrub. Some dirt had managed to get trapped just under the newly grown flesh - and he'd be damned if it stayed.

Husk's only response was to tighten his arm, subtly making a fist.

With a press that was a bit too hard - a spurt of puss shot out. Vilkas grimaced. He slowly reached up and wiped it from his cheek. A small trail of blood oozed forth from the newly made wound.

Husk stifled a groan.

For the first time that night, since their very meeting, Vilkas couldn't look down on Husk's reaction. He had a right to groan. Had it been he himself Vilkas knew that there would have been more cursing and snarling involved for sure.

Far more cursing indeed.

"Nearly finished," Vilkas offered in apology.

Husk only nodded, closing his eyes tightly.

The cleaning had continued for a while when Husk eventually shifted uneasily under the other man's hands. Vilkas rinsed off the rag before going back to the job. The water in the bucket had slowly darkened as dirt and blood mingled together to create a rusty blackened hue.

Ever so slightly, Husk turned his head to watch Vilkas.

Vilkas pretended not to notice. Or the fact that Husk's eyes were no longer red or puff. In fact the burnt man appeared more human than ever.

_ ".....Thank you, _ " his voice croaked.

Vilkas's hands froze.

It took a long moment for the sound to be taken as an actual voice, and not a creaking board of the building.

Wordlessly Vilkas went back to his task, brows silently risen.

Husk's lips pressed into a thin line. Disappointment clear in the arch of his single unburnt brow. His head settled back down onto his arms before he spared a glance towards Aela - who smiled in return. "Nothing to thank us for, Husk. It's what Companions do."

Vilkas finally voiced a response of his own - an annoyed sigh. He prodded at the red and inflamed spot on Husk's back, making Husk wince. "You want to thank me? Then do us both a favor and don't get this infected."

"At least not until we're near Jorrvaskr," Aela added quickly, sending a warning glance Vilkas's way.

"...Jorrviskar?" Husk's quiet voice wavered as he tried to pronounce the name. His single brow scrunched in confusion.

" _ Jorrvaskr _ ," Vilkas corrected sourly. "The home of the Companions. And unless you've lived under a rock you'd know the Companions are an order of warriors."

Aela shot a dangerous glare Vilkas's way.

"....An order of warriors who also rescued you," Vilkas added slowly.

Apparently that was enough to sate Aela as he nodded and slipped her rucksack under the bed. Husk didn't get a chance to reply before she continued on. "That we are. A brood of adventours troublemakers who's sole mission in life is to make Skyrim safer- and to do everything we can to spite the Silverhands." Aela ended with a pleased smirk. “That is, when the coin is good enough.”

Husk nodded in understanding as he mulled over the new information- and flashed a large fang-tipped smile right back. Though he didn't reply.

Vilkas stepped back into the conversation. He dropped the rag back into the bucket with a sickening  _ plunk _ . "Aye. And we Companions are going to take you there." Vilkas smacked his hands clean of the dried blood that had clung to Husk's skin. "We're more than capable of handling werewolves."

Perhaps the casual yet brash mention of werewolves, and the capability of being able to handle them, hadn't been the best idea.

Husk's eyes widened in horror.

Aela raced to put the fears to rest as fast as she could, though didn't try to move closer. " _ Not _ like the Silverhand. What this mead-for-brains bastard means is we know how to take care of our own." She didn't need the lad to drop dead on them from sheer terror after all that they had gone through to save him.

"......Aye," Vilkas nodded slowly, a scowl adorning his lip. It was as if the very words burned his tongue as he snarled quietly. "You're not the only one."

Aela nodded, slipping back into the conversation. Though not without sending a harsh glare towards her brother. "Now you see why we couldn't let you bring the silver dagger."

"...Oh." Husk blinked. The fear had ebbed away somewhat but the apprehension didn't leave his eyes.

The Companions could only wonder why he'd been so startled at the very mention of their own kind. The news, other than the mention of being handled, should have elated him, not sent him into a fright.

From that point on the travelers fell into an easy silence. Mostly because any attempt at conversation only ended with blinks or nods from Husk, who had continued to watch the warriors until he managed to doze off.

Once Vilkas had made peace with what cleaning he could do, he wrapped a bandage around the wound to try and protect it; which of course stirred Husk awake.

Husk, though drowsy, continued to let the Companion aid him without complaint. His eyes were partly closed as he sat up. And although it was clear he was ready to fall back asleep at a moment's notice, Husk would turn and move when Vilkas told him to.

Vilkas eventually managed to crack a smile as the tired face reminded him of his brother.

Aela had already locked the door to the building and packed away the remaining food, though made a point to draw his attention to the dusted table where she'd left some out for Vilkas. "Think he's going to make it through the night?" she asked, a tinge of sarcasm accompanying her grin. "I don't want to wake up near a corpse."

"Aye. Should be fine enough by tomorrow," Vilkas nodded, standing from the bed.

Husk took no time plopping right back onto the mattress.

Aela hummed in thought.

Finally the Companions decided to change from their armor. While Husk wore what he'd been given that day - other than the shirt which was neatly folded on the dusty nightstand by his bedside.

There were no corners to duck around, leaving Aela left only able to dull the fire and turn her back. She changed on the spot. Neither of the men dared to steal a glimpse - not that either would have wanted to. Because whether she was attractive or not Vilkas considered her his true sister - and both prefered not to risk his eyes being gouged from their sockets.

Aela bade them a goodnight before getting into bed in a tunic- and promptly sneezed at the dust. Her armor sat undisturbed at the foot of the bed, while her sword leaned against the wall in grasping distance.

Vilkas followed suit and climbed into his own after changing as well. Slowly his body finally began to unwind. He'd brought the rations with him. Though cold, the meat was much better than the salted strips he would have eaten otherwise.

He'd just finished the meat and had been biting into a stale bread roll when he noticed a pair of blue eyes still watching him. Half lidded and clearly fighting sleep.

"....." Vilkas slowly raised a brow. How disturbing. Friendly or not being stared at was starting to creep out the Warrior more than he'd dare to admit. "Aye....? You need something?"

Again husk echoed his quiet "thank you," before as his eyes finally fell closed. Followed by a content mumble.

Vilkas watched as the face relaxed in the beginnings of sleep. Husk had burrowed his way under the fur blankets, with the fur cloak above them. It wasn't surprising when the werewolf was finally sleeping soundly; tired from the long day coupled with the potions additional relaxing effects.    
  
Vilkas looked away from the lad before looking into the fire burning comfortably low in the cooking pit. The crackle of the fire worked like a lullaby and soon claimed Vilkas into the land of slumber, glancing one last time at the unexpected find.


	8. A Skeever's nest

Light filtered through the dust caked windows as dawn broke. Vilkas had woken first, taking the liberty to pack for the others. Although Husk had no rucksack to carry, Vilkas had quietly slipped a spare waterskin onto his nightstand. The Companion hoped it would prevent repeating the night before, as well as let Husk know he truly had his freedom. The poor lad had waited until water had been offered - even though he'd been starved for so long. Vilkas shook his head.

They'd need more supplies.

Now that there was another mouth to feed Vilkas was beginning to realize just how poorly the rescue attempt was planned. Or more accurately, attempted. After this morning there would be no beds to sleep in, which left them either sharing a bedroll with Husk, or worse, leaving the injured man on the barren ground.

Vilkas did his best to stay quiet. He sighed in annoyance as his armor was shrugged on and fastened slowly. Careful to avoid the loud creaks or clicks, it took far longer than it should have. Finally as he pulled on the armored gloves he allowed himself a silent sigh, and a quick glance to make sure no one had awoken.

Aela continued to sleep, unfazed by the light that crept onto her pillow. Husk slumbered deeply as well - no longer worried or haunted by the Silverhands.   
  
He even slept quietly.

With the last piece of his morning routine finished, Vilkas strapped his sword onto his back and took the time to carefully check the ties - adjusting them as needed. The leather was starting to wear, but he refused to have them replaced. It was always a bitch to break in fresh leather, and he hated nothing more than when the leather strips refused to bend, leaving his blade unpleasantly loose on his back. As his calloused fingers brushed over the intricate sheath, Vilkas found his gaze back on Husk. Perhaps they'd be able to commission Eorlund to make a set of armor for Husk that could hide the collar.

He would need protection if the Silverhand knew he still existed.   
  
Hopefully they’d slain all the bastards - but it wouldn't be the first time Vilkas, or any other Companion, had hoped for the same.

Either way it was a worry for tomorrow, and Vilkas needed to focus on the upcoming voyage.

It showed as he gave himself a shallow nod of approval, taking a final glance of the cabin. Their rucksacks sat by the door, while bread and even cheese had been laid out as a traveling breakfast on the only table. He'd even managed to slip some of the dried meat for Husk. And Aela, of course.

After all, he didn't want to be mauled.

Although Aela was still sleeping soundly, Vilkas knew without a doubt she'd soon awake. His shield-sister never slept a second past morning - and dawn had just slipped away.

It was almost a miracle that Vilkas himself had woken up first. Then again he wasn't sure it could have been called sleep at all after tossing and turning half the night.  _ Still _ , it was better than he'd managed in the past.

Husk was still curled up under the fur blankets, and cloak, resting peacefully. With not even a single sign of the man looking anywhere close to getting up. Even in sleep there was no mistaking the slightest smile on his burned lips. Husk was truly content with no more than a dusty worn bed and Companions beside him.

Vilkas felt his own smile begin as he watched the young Norseman. He was an odd sort, burnt face and playful humor, yet he was still strong where it counted and happiest about the little things. Elriah was sure to take a liking to him, as he did any other stray. With that in mind Vilkas's thoughts drew to what could happen once they returned with a stranger in tow.  _ If _ Husk even made it to Jorrvaskr. The warrior knew all too well that there was still a very likely chance the injured man could die along the way.

For that reason alone there was little use of wondering about the future, which might never happen at all, but that didn't stop Vilkas's mind from wandering over the possibilities. Either Aela or himself would probably be the Companion to teach Husk how to defend himself, given the already concrete trust the lad had in them. Even if Husk didn't stay for long he'd need to learn how to fend for himself.

For a brief moment Vilkas went as far as to entertain the thought of even taking Husk along as company on jobs.

Vilkas didn't notice the quiet chuckle as it slid past his lips.

Farkas would start pestering the new lad on how to train and fight better, like with any other shield-sibling. Husk may never be a great fighter after all of the abuse, and his shortened height, but his determination would be sure to win him a spot amongst the Companions, Vilkas decided. After all who else would have been able to survive such torture? The training was sure to be a breeze compared. And they wouldn't have to test just how much pain the lad could take.

They were pleasant thoughts, to be sure. Vilkas had a feeling that if Husk  _ did _ manage to make it to Jorrvaskr he'd find a place within the halls. Burns and all. In fact Vilkas was even certain the others would like him more for that fact alone. Perhaps he would even talk! If anyone could cause such a miracle it would be Tovar and his contagious drunken jabbering. Vilkas chuckled again. That would do it for sure.

_ And yet... _

Before it could be helped darker thoughts managed to slip into his head - clouding and stealing away the hope that had grown. The possibility of Husk being turned away made Vilkas frown. He tried to push away the notion. It didn't leave. What if Husk was turned away and the Silverhand found him, only to torture him again?

Another thought descended cruelly. What if the harbinger decided Husk was too much of a threat and ordered him to be put down? Vilkas could never disobey the Harbinger, yet he wasn't certain he could live guiltlessly knowing he'd only led Husk to his prolonged death, under the false promise of freedom. The lad had already been through so much as it was.

No amount of positive or hopeful thoughts could shove the dark cloud away now. Vilkas could practically see Elriah's disapproving gaze, and hear the draw of his sword. Vilkas shook his head. If only his beast would--

Slowly the treacherous thoughts slowed to a stop as Vilkas realized he'd been staring at Husk's sleeping form.

A Husk who was now quite awake, and starting right back.

Husk's brow quirked with uncertainty. Which made sense, given he'd woken up, only to have the eyes of one of his rescuers burning harshly into him.

Vilkas didn't have a chance to feel guilty before Husk rushed a croaked apology and slipped out of bed; breaking eye contact as he caught himself on the edge. With unfamiliar clumsiness the lad tried to tug on his boots - only to drop one in his haste. He winced, muttering another apology before finally pulling it on. Without socks, Vilkas noted. Another item to add to the growing list of supplies Husk would need.

Husk's eyes shot towards Aela who was still asleep. Apparently that only made Husk come to the conclusion that he'd somehow managed to offend the warrior, which left the poor man stranded on the edge of the dusty bed as he eyed the Companion warrily.

He hadn't been ordered to stand.

With nothing left to do but put on his shirt Husk nervously waited for an order that never came.

Perhaps it was cruel, but Vilkas crossed his arms and waited in turn. It was a dark curiosity, yet he continued to watch the lad, an unreadable expression on his face. A part of him wondered how Husk would react, while secretly he scolded himself for daring to test the lad who'd only said five words, if that, since his rescue.

Husk pailed considerably - coupled with a heart rate that had risen so high Vilkas could actually hear it from where he stood just feet away. With shaky hands Husk began to comb his hair, trying to not look towards the other werewolf as he busied himself to prepare for travel. However the multitude of knots refused to give way under his slim and measly fingers.

Vilkas scowled more as a hint of fear slid through the air, catching the Companion's nose tighter than any iron grip. It was a sharp, almost sweet smell to the predatory side - but a source of quickly souring guilt to the other.

Vilkas sighed though his crooked nose, closing his eyes.

He really was a bastard.

After glancing and confirming that Aela was still, somehow, asleep, Vilkas heaved another sigh before approaching the bed.

Husk froze the moment Vilkas's hand lightly brushed his shoulder, even before he'd been grasped.

"Calm yourself, Husk," Vilkas's tone stayed even. "I was thinking about the Silverhands bastards. Wanted to see what you'd do." As if that were any excuse. Secretly Vilkas cursed himself.

Although it sounded sincere, Husk still eyed him back nervously.

"At least now we won't have to worry about them, now will we?" Vilkas tried to crack a grin, which felt awkward as it was forced on his lips. It clearly didn't work as Husk's only reaction was an uncertain blink. Vilkas returned it. Husk was watching him, waiting for something. As if...

"...You're not sure what to do without orders. Are you." Vilkas stated the latter flatly.

Husk nodded slowly, eyes shifting lower. His shoulders had relaxed under the Companion's grip - relieved he wasn't the reason for the glare from before.

Vilkas regarded the lad for a long moment. Husk was used to orders, and wouldn't even dare to drink unless it was offered first. From the state of the burns, the long gone cell, and the feralness that had clung to the emaciated form, Vilkas was starting to believe their find had been locked away much longer than either of the Companions could have guessed.

He'd need to do something.

"...If we want to get on the road before sun down you're going to need some help with that Skeever’s nest you call hair." Vilkas tried again to give Husk a smile - though this didn't give the lad a chance to deny his help or wait for such an order. "We don't need the people thinking you're our prisoner."

Before Husk could blink Vilkas was already on the edge of the bed next to him, and had pulled off his armored gloves. They were neatly dropped at Vilkas's side on the dusty sheets. With that Vilkas began to set forth on doing the one thing he knew had worked on all of the strays before - undoing the knots.

Years of battle and hard labor had left Vilkas's fingers calloused. Which managed to add some bulk to the otherwise long and almost graceful fingers. Had things been different, the Companions joked, their Vilkas would have grown into a lover and player of music.    
  
Vilkas didn't disagree.

Those same fingers managed to make headway as the knots of hair unraveled beneath his gentle ministrations. While others caught his fingers tightly and had to be convinced to break away with tougher conviction.

Vilkas paid no attention to Husk's silence, or the fact the lad's shoulders had sagged in relief. This was one thing that Vilkas knew worked on  _ all _ werewolves. Even himself.

After a few moments passed Vilkas found a worthy challenger. The knot was more akin to a dread. Unless Husk were to cut it off Vilkas didn't see much of an alternative, though his finger's continued to pluck.

"Think you can hold still if I hack it off?" Vilkas asked, trying to hold back a grin.

Husk was brave enough to squint his answer daringly.

Vilkas snickered at the first sight of honest annoyance from the lad. Somehow even with the burn it was less intimidating and far more amusing. "Aye, alright, just don't go crying if I tug too hard."

Husk huffed and rolled his eyes. Other than that he stayed quiet as the Companion's fingers brushed over his scalp and softly tugged apart each clustered strand. As if no one had ever touched his hair in such a way. In fact, Vilkas was certain of that much as he felt Husk relax into the feeling of light tugging and combing; fully soothing the previous worry from the glare.

In some places such an act would be looked down upon, whispered about. Though only by those who were not of Skyrim - or her Companions. Following their viking roots, Companions often tended to the hair of their fellows. In fact it was as common as tending to their wounds, and maintaining their swords.

It was commonplace to help braid or tie it back making sure the hair wouldn't get in their way on the battlefield. The only alternative, that no man wanted, was either to stay bald for the rest of their lives - or die by their own damned hair. And braiding alone took time. While having a brother help not only saved such, but was sometimes the only act other than violence in the tide of battle.

It was a well known opinion in Skyrim that long hair added beauty to a good face, while horror to an ugly one. Which happened to be the reason Farkas kept his so long - but the result was debatable depending if his husband was around - or if he was currently swinging a war-hammer down onto a foe's skull.

It had taken a few minutes of fidgeting, prodding, and at one point yanking - but the dread finally unraveled in Vilkas's hands. Once he was satisfied with his job Vilkas nodded in approval. "Decent. Now let me get to the rest," he ordered without thinking. He'd tried to be kind but the lack of sleep left a gruffness to his voice. His smile felt out of place, but he forced it anyways.

Either way Husk did as he was told and turned to face Vilkas. He avoided eye contact the best he could; choosing to keep his gaze lowered.

Vilkas hummed thoughtfully. None of the hair was even - choppily cut in some places, while others looked like it had been snagged and ripped. But the Companions didn't have time to wait, nor had a sharp enough knife for the job.

But Vilkas be damned if he'd let the lad meet Elriah like this.

Carefully Vilkas pulled some of the hair away and began to braid; deciding to do so with the hair next to the burn. The warrior figured it couldn't be comfortable to have hair whipping against the reddened flesh. At least if it was braided Husk could tie it back with the rest easily. Or tuck it behind his ear.

The blood that had dried on Husk's hair began to chip away, improving the lad's appearance greatly. Slowly, as the grime fell away, dark strawberry hair was revealed, much to Vilkas's surprise. For some reason he'd expected Husk to be blonde like his Harbinger, or dark like his own, though was unsure why. Then again they were the most common colors of Skyrim hair - as was red.

Strawberry blonde, however, was not.

With a true grin Vilkas nodded. " _ Now _ you look like a proper Nord," he explained while he continued to plait the hair, "and less like a walking dragr."

Unbeknownst to the warrior, Husk actually smiled. Vilkas was too focused on trying to make the braid stay to notice the curious blue eyes that had slowly risen his way.

Vilkas mumbled a curse under his breath as a strand of hair managed to slip from his grasp.

He should have known better than to worry what Elriah would decide. Vilkas could already tell the Harbinger would take Husk in just like any lost pup he'd found before. He was too quiet and obedient not to.

Eventually Husk stole a daring glimpse at the other man's face - just as Vilkas had looked down to capture the fallen hair. This time he was greeted with a true smile that crinkled the corner of Vilkas's eyes, unbeknownst fueled with the certainty of Elriah's choice. Husk paused and cautiously returned it.

Aela, who had woken minutes before, sneakily watched the pair as Vilkas continued braiding.

Husk was blushing lightly from uncertainty, as was the man next to him after catching such a glimpse. Husk may have appreciated the act but there was no mistaking how uncomfortable he was. Once the braid was finished Vilkas let his hands linger. With daylight filling the cabin Vilkas was finally able to catch a better glimpse of the lad they'd freed. And the burn.

The burn alone was enough to make the Companion lose his smile. As was the fact that under all of the trauma Husk still managed to look so young. The blue eyes were almost innocent. The Warrior reminded himself to ask Husk how long he'd wasted his life in those cells, but for now he studied the scar more.

Husk said nothing as the Companion checked over the wound.

With a careful, and ill thought brush of his thumb, Vilkas drew over the burn. Roughness chafed against the pad of his thumb. Although the flesh rose painfully red, it soon became obvious that it was an older injury for the sole reason that Husk didn't flinch. Parts of it were still peeling away however. Old but still healing.

"Lucky to still have your eye," Vilkas mumbled in thought to himself.

Vilkas pondered, deciding Husk must have gotten it sometime before they had locked him in the cell; as there was no way it could have healed to that extent in three weeks' time. For a wound like that to heal that well could take months, and even now it still had a long way to go.

But Vilkas was certain of one thing. The Silverhand had been the cause.

Which confirmed that Husk, sadly, had been within their clutches longer than they'd originally thought.

As Vilkas studied the burn, Husk in turn took a moment to do the same. The war paint, which had since been replied on the voyage, was smudged around Vilkas's eyes from sleep. Underneath lurked dark circles that hung below the paint - as if Vilkas hadn't slept in weeks. Who knew that such an intimidating man would have been the one to decide whether he should live. Aela had let him kick the corpse though, making his trust and thankfulness in them rather even.

As Vilkas continued to look at the burn he noticed a small jagged scar that was almost hidden within it. The scar had been there much longer than the burn had been. Perhaps he could ask later, once the lad actually spoke again. He would have to be careful how to word it. The last thing he wanted was to bring up bad memories that could make things worse, especially after the morning glare. Husk didn't need more stress on top of healing and travel.

_ "Ahem." _

The men jumped as Aela coughed and began to pull herself up from her bed. They separated - quickly going about and getting ready to go. Or at least Husk tried to appear as doing such as he tugged his shirt back on snugly over the bandages before standing at cautious attention; while Vilkas snatched his rucksack.

Soon after, taking time for a silent breakfast, the trio stepped out of the cabin and into a decently warm morning. Snow still clung to the branches. A few clouds dotted the sky, but as the sun shone brightly the Companions were graced with knowing there would be no added snow that day.

Each, especially Husk, took a deep breath of the clean air, happy to be free of the dusty room. Husk however was the only one who sighed wistfully.

The mill's owner, an older man, sat outside the connected home. He greeted the Companions with a wave of his crooked fingers.

Vilkas paused. The daylight finally exposed the property more - and the fact the man's windows were filled with supplies. They were displayed much like that of a shop’s wares, which alluded to the question of where the Silverhands possibly routed their supplies from.

"Go on ahead," Vilkas announced, waving them off dismissively. "I'll catch up."

Aela nodded and continued down the path with Husk in tow, too groggy to really care as to why Vilkas for once decided to lag behind.   
  
The journey continued with little talking.


	9. Long Walks and Longer Suspicions

The day had begun interesting enough, though as it marched along it grew quickly uncomfortable. The snow was melting, leaving the road they'd found slippery, and worse, someone's horse had clearly had stomach trouble given the amount of brown smears amongst the white.

It had been an hour or so since the trio had left the dusty mill. Birds sang and flittered as they made their way towards the main road which would lead them to Whietrun. A slight breeze danced about, carrying the scent of wildlife and overturned snow.

Vilkas however was nowhere near as peaceful as their surroundings. He was silently cursing himself, thinking back on how brazen he had been in the building. There'd been no reason to do what he did, he didn't need to feel the burns, however Husk had let him continue. Of course he did! The man had no sense of self - and Vilkas's job was to set the line for the lad to learn.

As a warrior Vilkas could only imagine the horrific stories behind those scars; but as a decent man he should have minded his hands, and his own damned business. It was to check the wound on Husk's face and nothing more he told himself.    
  
He'd already used the same excuse twice that morning alone.

It was hard not to notice that Husk was far less cheerful than he'd been on the beginning of their voyage. Stiffness clung to his limbs, leaving him shuffling a bit as he carefully planned where he placed his steps amongst the melting snow. It appeared the potions pain relieving effects had reached their limits, and was sadly wearing off.

At least the road for now was mostly straight, flat, and easy to follow. With only rare dips that could easily be walked over, even with the growing puddles. Husk wouldn't have too much trouble for a few miles yet, and by then they'd hopefully be able to set up camp.

Aela had noticed the change as well, though said nothing. She was too busy thinking about what she'd witnessed - and what should be done about it. The Companion felt nothing against Husk, if anything she could see how they could become fast allies, but the thought of her shield-brother being so curious of a man they knew nothing about did not sit well with her, now that her own curiosity had vanished.

Vilkas had let his guard down far too fast.

Tending to hair was one thing, she knew, but the rest ...? Vilkas had never been a person to touch. Let alone touch a wound - old or otherwize.

Since they'd found Husk, her brother had yet to complain about the beast blood. Perhaps it was coincidence? They had been busy enough to forget to talk, or grumble, about such things. He'd been wary about taking Husk with them in the first place, but now he even helped Husk look presentable this morning like he would do with his own brother, Farkas.    
  
There was nothing wrong with that, the man could use some form of kinship, but Aela didn't see how it could be good either. She still knew very well that Husk could easily expire on the way home, and refused to set herself up for loss.

A distraction shimmered, pulling her from her thoughts.   
  
Aela couldn't help but look to Husk's collar as it caught the sunlight. Out of all of the bodies in the cells next to him, none had shown signs of a silver band, clasp, or even a failed attempt to bind Silver to their flesh. Though she did come across collar’s left unused and shining as she’d searched for a potion.

It started to pace its way around her mind.

She began to think about the conditions of the other prisoners of Gallows Rock. Not a single soul other than Husk had been left alive. And yet someone the most injured, the most feral, had pulled through and lived long enough to be found. It was almost too perfect.    
  
As if it had been planned.    
  
A stupid thought, yet the more Aela dwelled on it the more the idea seemed plausible. Injured beyond surviving without help from another, Husk was left barely well enough to be found and rescued.

Proof began to pile up in her mind. The potion she'd found had been close by as well, only a few cell lengths in the next room away amongst a row of other, though lesser, supplies. It was no small potion either, not even by the Companions standards. It must have cost quite a bit of coin, and would have taken great skill to create.

Funny it would be left in the open like that.

The way Husk had no name also snagged at her mind. Too convenient. The lad's past was untraceable. The burn had left his features skewed as well. Only close family would be able to recognize what had been left - and even that was a reach with how starvation moulded his bones.

Aela eyed the werewolf warily. Husk took no notice, watching the world around him with childish awe.

Perhaps she was giving the Silverhand too much credit. The warrior shook her head. Though cruel and tactful when it came to locks and torture, they were far from bright. After all they'd officially named themselves as foes of the Companions in front of the entirety of Skyrim. And yet....

The corner of Aela's lips fell into a frown. How daft. The most glaring obvious counter argument was staring her right in the face. Why would the Silverhand let themselves be slaughtered just to get the wolf to the Companions? Surely there was no good reason for it, Husk couldn't harm a fly in his state, let alone two healthy warriors like themselves. A skeever, perhaps, but he’d been numbed and aided by the potion.

The Silverhands were too cowardly anyways to lay down their lives for any greater cause.

And yet ...a cold trickle of unease as suspicion began to grow. Husk was feral when they first interacted, but was now following them around the countryside like a loyal dog. Maybe it wasn't a fight they had wanted after all. Though there were many holes in the idea, she feared that she had a chance of being right.

For a short moment Aela wished for their Harbinger to stroll out of nowhere and put her mind at ease.

".....You holding up back there?" Vilkas asked cautiously. Husk was now trailing a few feet behind, sweat and exhaustion heavy on his brow. Vilkas knew Husk was nowhere near being alright, even with the waning effects the potion had offered, but it was the only thing he could think to ask.

Husk nodded and brushed the question off before catching up.

Vilkas frowned. Husk hadn't looked at him since departure.

It wasn't as if the warrior had tried to make conversation, but he'd assumed that Husk would at least look his way. Even if it was to look past him to take in the view. Vilkas couldn't blame him. A curse hid under his breath. Of course he wouldn't, not after that morning. The glare, the blanant cross of personal boundaries...

As Husk walked his braid swung gently. Dressed in mostly clean clothes, fresh bandages, his hair now manageable and no longer bothering him... it was a miracle. A miracle that actually looked human. In only a day his life had turned for the better - all because two strangers.

Eventually Husk's attention was snagged yet again - though this time by a bird. His eyes widened along with his smile as the bird swooped and soared - chasing a butterfly through the air. A soft chuckle of awe escaped his chapped lips. "How wonderful...."

Vilkas hummed. Now there were seven worried tallied. He eyed the bird. It was a simple, plain, and boringly brown sparrow. Yet Husk seemed to be enamoured. "Aye. Not the word I'd use," Vilkas admitted with a shrug. "But anything is better than Gallows Rock."

Vilkas cursed himself as Aela shot him another warning glare.

Husk's face flushed in embarrassment and ducked his head. He continued to peer from under his hair, eyes still caught on the bird. His gaze followed it as it snapped and missed.

It was Aela's turn to steal a glimpse, looking over her shoulder at him; unease clear in her eyes. Husk simply returned the stare; too startled to turn away from the eerie gaze. They were the eyes of a predator, focused and clear. He had no doubt that she was a werewolf, and a ranking wolf at that. She had killed many of his old Silverhands captors, proving herself a force to be reckoned with. He blinked slowly, breaking eye contact long enough to let her know he was not a challenge to her rank.

When the look didn't change his single brow raised in silent question.

Vilkas was not oblivious to the wordless debate being played out between them. Before he could venture in Aela scowled briefly then turned back and continued on her way, never changing in pace.    
  
Husk looked confused as his eyebrow furrowed yet again. He watched her carefully as if he expected her to turn around and talk to him. When she didn't Husk looked back down at the road but gave Vilkas a brief side glance, as if to ask what had happened.

Vilkas had no answer to give.

  
\--

  
By the time they made camp and unfurled their bedrolls, night was almost upon them.

Vilkas, pressed by his earlier worry, had bought an extra from the man who owned the Mill before he'd left. Husk didn't need much to get by, but gods be damned if Vilkas was going to let the lad sleep on bare ground. Dirt was no better than stone, but it was stupid to just let his wound dirty itself again by lying on the earth. His own back be damned if he gave up his own bedroll.

Eventually the trio paused to set up camp in a small basin which was surrounded by trees. The forest acting as a possible defence. It was far enough back from the road that most travelers couldn't see them, that was, unless they accidentally stumbled directly into their camp. Thankfully the road had been rather desolate throughout the day anyways, except for the occasional monk or traveling caravan. And for every odd glance Husk would win - Aela and Vilkas challenged it with warning glares of their own. It left the trio rather closer indeed, and of course left Husk smiling larger than ever.

As the camp was slowly set, Aela started a tiny fire to roast more of the presumed rabbit meat. Not because she was a woman, but for the sheer fact that she never could quite trust Vilkas again with the flint after the last disaster almost two years back.

Or at least that's what she claimed.   
  
They had lost an entire tent to it, afterall.

Vilkas, unarmed with flint, approached the young norseman sheepishly. A bundled bedroll tucked under his arm. Hopefully it would act as a decent enough apology. Throughout the day all Vilkas could do was keep watch, and silently kick himself for the morning's mistake.

Husk was standing in the middle of the clearing alone as Aela set up a basic hide-sewn tent, just large enough to house two of the Companions. Husk's face was turned to the sky as he watched the clouds, lips pulled into a small smile as a look of sheer bliss graced his features. His small form radiated contentment as his shoulders relaxed. Freedom tasted sweet it seemed, and Husk was drinking in every detail of the world he could.

Vilkas coughed as he walked up to Husk, gaining his attention. He'd already noticed how jumpy Husk was, and he'd already decided not to startle him again.

Husk's previous look melted away into caution, then curiosity, then confusion as he scrambled to catch the bedroll that Vilkas dropped into his arms unceremoniously.

"You'll need this for tonight," Vilkas explained flatly. Though thankfully his tone softened as he reminded himself just why he was even there. "Think of it as ... a congratulatory gift on your freedom."

So much for the apology.

Husk was taken by surprise as he held the gift, fingers grazing the furs of the bedroll.

Vilkas looked off to the side as he reached behind himself to scratch at his neck with his calloused hand.   
  
Silence fell for a few short moments.

Husk cleared his throat before letting out a little laugh, baffled by the kindness. "Thank you...." His voice trailed off uncertainty as he squinted, scrounging to remember the name.

Vilkas looked up and smiled back at the lad. "Vilkas."

"Thank you,  _ Vilkas _ ," he corrected quickly. "I'll put it to good use." The slightly raspy voice, and even his own quiet laugh brought a blush to Husk's features in embarrassment.

Warmth spread across Vilkas's own face as Husk looked away, unsure of what else to do after receiving a gift. Vilkas was surprised to have made Husk smile so easily.    
  
It made him feel ...content.

Vilkas could only imagine how overjoyed Husk would be when they reached his possible new home.

Realization slowly dawned on the warrior as he turned to start setting up camp as well. He wanted to befriend the young norseman, help him get used to the freedom he had received so suddenly, and help him decide what to make of it. Husk may never be a great warrior, but there was something strong in him that refused to die. Determination was the very back bone of the Companions, and Husk had shown more of that in the short time than most did in a decade.

Husk thanked him again before walking away towards the fire and laying out the bedroll beside it.

Aela stared blankly. "What are you doing?" She questioned, causing Husk to stare back in utter confusion.

"Getting ready for-" Husk winced as he was cut off by Aela, who stood.

"Getting ready to freeze yourself?" She finished. Without a word she plucked Husk's bedroll up, only to drop it inside the tent. There it lay, alongside one of their own bedrolls. "You're sleeping with us tonight."

Husk continued to stare, slowly trying to understand. "Are you..."

Aela raised a brow challengingly. "Are you really going to question me, Husk?"

Husk's eyes quickly fell downwards as he shook his head, mumbling a quiet, "No sir."

"Good!" Aela's harsh tone was broken by her small smile. "You're not a prisoner," she reminded gently. "And to be blunt, I'd rather not have you become a frozen dragr after all we did to free you." Aela clapped then pointed towards the fire before retaking her seat next to it. "Now, help me with this meat. You're no prisoner, but you're still going to pull your weight around here."

Vilkas was left watching as Husk quickly took his place alongside her, and eagerly helped cut and divide the meat. The warrior shook his head fondly. Aela was always hard, but even he could see she was lending her own aid to the burnt stranger she'd named.

After that the trio ate in peace, sharing stories of Jorrvaskr around the fire before Aela and Husk turned in for the night.    
  
Vilkas took the first watch.

Inside Aela found herself openly amused as she watched Husk try to figure out which end of the bedroll to put his head. After another lesson, tallying up the cooking lesson of before, the Companion happily rolled her eyes at the proud gleaming face of Husk. She bade him goodnight.

Though even after Husk had fallen asleep, comfortably nestled under the furs, Aela could only watch with a growing sense of unease.

She wanted to like and trust the stranger, but her instincts all but screamed otherwize.

In the end, Aela only managed a few hours of restless sleep before Vilkas returned, which she welcomed happily.

After all, she needed time to plan.


	10. Misplaced Orders

By the time mid morning rolled by in a peaceful unhindered lull on the fourth day, Aela had learned a new, but vital lesson. One that not even all of her years as a Companion, or instincts, could have begun to prepare her for.

_ Never _ let Husk out of sight.

Vilkas, who was clearly as useless at watching the stranger as she was, sighed loudly as annoyance creased his brows. "Again?" He stressed. His hands flew out towards his sides - thankfully without a sword. "This is the fourth damn time!"

"Third." Aela corrected, glancing idly where she'd last seen the burnt stranger. "I don't think relieving himself behind a tree counts." At least that was one thing he didn't ask permission for. Aela waved her hand, swatting away at a nagging fly. "I'll say we give it another minute before we go looking-"

Aela sighed pointedly as an empty place greeted her where her brother should have been. " _ Vilkas. _ "

The warrior, who had already started halfway back down the road behind her, turned. "No." The venomously sour expression on his face almost made Aela grin. "We go looking before the poor bastard gets eaten by a bear."

"By...a bear." Aela's brow rose plainly. "Vilkas, there are no bears here. Not for a few miles out, and even then they're scarce." Each word came out slowed, as if explaining it to a child.

"One could have wandered," Vilkas shot back.

Aela could only roll her eyes. "And one could say you're too pessimistic." Instead of looking around like an idiot, she figured the better, and far less stupid, idea was to stay put.

It didn't take long for her plan to succeed wonderfully. Better yet it was well worth the even more soured expression on Vilkas's face as he finally returned some time later - only to see Husk patiently munching on bread besides her, sitting on a log.

The only glare Vilkas gave was to Aela's grin. Even as grouchy as her brother tended to be, she'd known he wouldn't dare scold their companion.

"Where were you again?" Aela asked gently, as if continuing a conversation Vilkas hadn't been privy to. Her faked sing-song voice left Husk staring uselessly for a moment.

"The river," He replied, far too busy munching to notice the Companions' ongoing wordless show of grins and glares. The Companions had quickly learned that Husk rarely spoke, but when he did it was quick to the point.

Husk's hair was soaking wet, dripping small rivers onto his travel dusted tunic. Although there had been no soap involved, the simple dunk had done wonders for the stench. Not that the Companion's had mentioned it, of course. But a rag bath could only go so far.

Aela hummed, then continued. "And why did you go to the river?"

"Because..." Husk apparently caught wind that something was going on as his eyes finally turned away from whatever in the woods had caught his interest. His attention finally fell back on Vilkas. "You...said to."

Vilkas stared back blankly as Husk looked at him with casual pointedness. "I...what?" He asked, torn between offense and baffled amusement. His arms crossed.

Husk nodded, already distracted again. "You said we should take turns bathing so someone was always watching either side of the road."

Aela grinned as the realization sunk into her brother, and even more so as he slowly raised his hand before it enveloped his face. Ah yes. She decided then that she liked Husk even more for being able to baffle and annoy Vilkas better than even she could.

"Husk..." Vilkas was cut short as Aela happily side stepped back into the conversation.

"Ah, yes! That's right! Vilkas did mention that, didn't he." She nodded, fighting hard against her aching grin. "And then he nodded to you and asked if you'd want to be first."

"That's not..." Vilkas tried.

"That's right," Husk nodded. The bread was already gone, with only a last crumb to spare. "And I nodded back. When he didn't say anything I went along with the order and did so as quickly as possible." He paused, thoughtful as he brushed the crumbs off towards the nearest ant. It happily skittered over before carrying it off as quick as it could, waving its prize about. "Though...I was surprised Vilkas went back down the road to scout," Husk admitted quietly.

Vilkas peeked through his fingers, glaring at Aela, before it softened a bit while pointed toward the oblivious Husk. Of course he'd taken it that way. However he wasn't about to correct the man either. Not if it'd give Aela the pleasure.

In all honesty Husk was right. Vilkas admitted to himself that he'd said such a thing, but he'd meant after the set up their next camp. "Aye..." he floundered, uselessly. "So, how was it?"

Husk glanced back to Vilkas, away from the ant. "Cold, but pleasant. I didn't see anyone." Husk's ears drooped back slightly with Vilkas could only assume, hopefully, was embarrassment. And from the beast blood. The Companions did take note on how often they moved. "Did I take too long?"

"No," Aela assured, cutting in before Vilkas could. "Just right. But we're going to wait until we set up camp for our turns. Isn't that right, Vilkas?" The quiet and annoyed 'aye' was enough of a victory. Aela nodded. "Though after us, you should feel free to take another. It'd be good to keep your wounds clean after all.

To be blunt the way she spoke edged unnervingly close to the edge of talking to a child, as far as Vilkas was concerned. The man had been hurt, for gods knew how long, but he wasn't inept. "Aye. We'll be following the river for most of the way back on this route."

Vilkas didn't realize he'd left another victory wide open as Aela leaned in and gently put an arm around Husk's shoulders. "You don't need to assume our orders either, Husk." She said softly, insistent that he would not mistake her. "We're not Silverhand, and you're no prisoner. There are no orders here."

Husk's eyes widened, then squinted a bit as if he was lost.

"However if we have to," Aela continued as she patted his shoulder and drew her arm away. "We will be very clear on that. So unless we say very directly that something is an order, just assume it's otherwise. Alright?"

Husk could only nod, dumbfounded.

Vilkas echoed the nod, and sat beside them. Just as Aela, and in a quick chain reaction Husk, stood.

"That's enough of a break." Aela announced. "Let's go Husk, we've got a ways until we reach Whiterun."

Vilkas could only sigh in annoyance, and ignore Aela's grin.

—

True to their word the Companions were quick to bathe once camp had yet again been set. With practiced precision and ease the camp was a perfect mirror to the one from the night before. Though this time Vilkas had happily coached Husk on the proper way to raise a tent. Which was only made better as Aela found herself alongside Husk, who was already helping without having to be asked.

In truth the little werewolf had already started to fit quite well.

Wherever he could lend his aid to those who saved him, he'd readily and happily do so without complaint. The amount of time Husk lost his smile since his rescue could be counted on a single hand alone, and he showed no signs of changing that.

Which sadly only nagged Aela's worry further as the night went on. Oblivious to this, Vilkas had struck up a conversation about their early days at Jorrvaskr. It helped distract her, but her instinct left a fire burning low.

Almost as low as campfire where the meat popped and grease pooled.

"Save some for me," Vilkas announced as he stood. The trio had taken a break around the fire. "I'm going to test the river."

Husk blinked.

"He means bathe," Aela offered bordly.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded as he undid his armor. The chest guard was already halfway off, though thankfully he made no move to undo his pants or shin guards just yet. His armor was dropped carefully next to their nearby tent - leaving Vilkas shirtless as he turned towards the river. "Don't let Aela change any of the straps either," he warned.

Aela, who'd lived with Vilkas so long she didn't care when he was shirtless, continued to nurse the fire. Another stick found its way into the crackling hungry blaze. "No promises."

Vilkas's broad shoulders and wide chest were left bare, as was the furring of silvering hair that trailed down over the slight dome of his belly and vanished to the waist of his pants. Scars dusted over his skin. From varying knicks to full on slashes dealt by either fang, sword, or claw, the warrior's life was in full view upon his skin.

Vilkas gave the pair a last nod, then grinned, from over his shoulder before he strolled away through the thicket and towards the unseen river.

Aela raised a brow. Not only at the grin - but the fact that Husk was still staring very dumbly at where the Warrior had vanished.

"That was...." Husk fished for the right words.

"An incredibly brazen way to show off?" Aela offered uncaringly. She continued to poke at the blaze.

Husk shook his head. "That was a lot of scars." His attention finally drew away from the edge of their camp, and back to the roasting meat. But as his single brow furrowed and drew towards the burnt gap, it was clear that any appetite had left him.

Aela hummed dismissively. "We are Companions, you know. War is in our blood." She offered a small humorless chuckle as she prodded the blaze. "Which is why our enemies seem so intent to spill it."

The words fell unanswered as Husk sighed through his nose. The distant sound of the river mixed like an eerie song alongside the crackling fire, soon becoming the only noise between them as Husk fell silent.

Aela knew better than to press.

Eventually Husk did speak again, though it left Aela in silence as the words hit. "You meant the Silverhand," Husk said quietly. "They're the ones who spill your blood the most."

"You're not wrong," Aela finally answered after a long moment. "Do you know why?"

Husk nodded. "You're werewolves."

"Beyond that," she pressed. Her previous worries reared their ugly head just under her skin. "There must be some other reason you've seen from their cells."

Husk met her eyes with a look that even she couldn't quite read. Guilt, sadness, confusion, it was all a jumble in the sharp blue eyes that gazed back from behind the burns. "I..."

"The river's freezing. Best see if your temper can change that." Vilkas strode back into the clearing. Shirtless still, but thankfully clothed from the waist down. A pair of worn pale trousers hugged his legs. The rest of his armor perched under his arm. "Is it ready yet?"

Aela could only roll her eyes at the sudden change, though rose uneasily as she gathered her things. She didn't dare let it show. "Find out yourself, I'm not your wife."

A loud laugh escaped Vilkas. "And I thank the gods for that every day!"

Aela had already peeled away from the camp by the time Vilkas took her place, quickly falling back into easy chatter with Husk. But Aela had no such relief. Even the icy grasp of the water clawing at her form did nothing to quench or extinguish the burning instincts.

Something was wrong with Husk, and she was going to find out exactly what it was.


	11. Interrogation and Interest

"Let's take a look at those wounds," Aela suggested. Morning had come and gone, leaving their new camp well lit by the midday sun. Vilkas had already begun to set up the camp, but stopped to look over in annoyance.

His way of healing was to simply leave it be. If it didn't hurt worse, then it was probably fine. Messing with bandages only made things worse. But the Companion refused to argue as he nodded, giving in with a grumble.   
  
However Aela lifted her hand, taking over.

Aela kept her feelings locked tight as she approached. Just as the night before, Husk had returned from the river. Although he didn't truly bathe, he'd at least taken a rag to wherever the bandages weren't. It was a small improvement. They didn't trust the current not to sip him off his feet, or for the collar not to act as an anchor to drown him. This river was far too deep and rapid to risk. Maybe the collar wasn't that heavy, but it was still weight on a man who had none.

Husk eyed Aela warily, but finally gave in with a nod. Worry however darkened his earlier contentment. He'd grown used to his traveling companions, but recently he'd learned to be on high alert. Ever since the look on the trail, Husk had decided that Aela wasn't quite the soft rescuer he'd originally thought.

Husk said nothing as Aela sat down behind him. The only response was him removing his shirt and setting it aside. For a man with no possessions except for his clothing and bedroll, he took great care of each.

From there Aela set to work. The bloodied bandages weren't as soaked as the previous dressing, which was as good a sign as any that Husk had begun to heal. She hummed as she worked. Cautious of their new companion or not, she could tell that sounds helped him. Especially when he couldn't see who was behind him, knowing or not.

Aela took great joy in ignoring the eyes staring into her back.

Vilkas's eyes followed each movement as he absentmindedly continued to put away their supplies. The fire was started, and the remains of their dinner wrapped for later. Although he trusted his sister, he wasn't quite sure on her bedside manners.

Even if Aela was sitting cross-legged and worry free as if the trail encounter had never even happened. Vilkas looked to Husk. Husk on the other hand was stiff as he sat straight and still.

Aela lightly touched the gash before sighing heavily. Vilkas looked up at the sound from the make-do cooking pit.

"Vilkas, I need you to go and gather some herbs. An infection has set in." Sadly she wasn't lying; the redness had grown and became puss filled in the young Nord's back.

Vilkas's eyebrows rose slightly at her surprisingly strict command. Aela continued to inspect the wound. "And where exactly am I going to find these herbs? I didn't see any just sprouting up on the way here." Vilkas had sounded sarcastic, yet the slightest trace of worry still found its way into his voice around the gruffness.

Aela shrugged as she responded. "Use your nose. I'm sure you'll find them eventually. I'd look by that old broken white oak we passed on the road. It's rotten enough I'm sure something's growing on it by now. It's either that or Husk here is going to be in a bit of a bind."

Elriah had taught them some basics of field herbs, leaving Vilkas to wish he had listened more. Either way, he only nodded and gave a grunt as he stood and left before Husk could say anything about it.    
  
  


***

  
  


Husk could feel that Aela was planning something. He knew that calculating look all too well. He could  _ feel _ it. The same stare the torturer would give him before tormenting him with the vile tools, twisting his features into cruel intent. Aela's face may have been welcoming, but her eyes were not. Not now. They were strict and merciless.

Husk mentally prepared himself for a beating, or anything else he could think of. If Aela was mad there was no telling what she would do. Aela was a werewolf as was he, and from that alone could be worse than any Silverhand. And unlike him, she wore no silver.

He pressed his eyes closed, sending off a simple prayer to the divines. It had never done him any good before, but now he hoped that someone out there would hear it. Maybe his prayers couldn't be heard from his cell - but now he was free of the Garrison. Then again... the Silverhands hunt for his demise had failed, and they themselves had been hunted instead. That in itself had been a prayer answered.

Perhaps the Hircine would hear him yet again, and grant his wolf strength to escape the mighty hunter cloaked as a Companion.

Husk pretended to not notice the way Aela stood stiffly, or how she left his wound unbound. It needed air to heal, but the way she had done it bothered him. The wound was a weak spot, one that was now vulnerable to attack.

"The Silverhand left you alive for a reason, Didn't they." Aela said it more as a statement than a question. She moved, coming to sit across from him as she poked at the fire. She waited for an answer. Her expression was unreadable, fully trained from life as a warrior, much to his dismay.

Husk worried that he truthfully could not get away if he needed to. Even without the wound she was stronger, and he was weak. Starvation had claimed it's dues. Husk stared at her for a moment, deciding finally that it would be best to just speak.

"They did," he replied quietly.

Aela locked eyes with him as she read his face; her eyes cold and watchful for any sign. "Why?" she wondered aloud.

Husk clicked his tongue as he thought of how to word it, or if it was wise to share his truths. He had tried not to think about them since he had gained this freedom.

"There must have been a reason," Aela pressed.

He was tense and his mind flickered back to the torture and his cell. Aela impatiently waved her hand for him to talk, glaring from his suspicious silence.

".... I wasn't made a werewolf, I've always been, I was born one." Husk rambled. He winced as he realized how dumb he had sounded; it had been too blunt and far too speedy.

Aela stared on, perplexed by the notion. Even though it did not explain why they let him live, she motioned again; her curiosity fully caught. Fullborn werewolves weren't unheard of, but anyone who showed signs of lycanthropy were put to the chopping block. Their age didn't matter. So to see a grown man who claimed to be one...needless to say it caught Aela's attention.

"My senses are...heightened because of that," He started. "It made me useful."

Aela nodded, unamused as she pondered what he had so bluntly stated. "You didn't have to learn how to be a werewolf."

"Exactly," Husk answered quietly. His eyes remained on the fire, giving up it's search of her face. There was nothing he would learn from her guarded expressions. He would have to rely on himself and his own actions for now.

Aela hummed. The collar started to make sense to her as it gleamed in the fires light. A grown werewolf, who was stolen and kept by the killers of the very beings he shared blood with.

The silence grew

"So you are a tool I take it," Aela finally spoke.

Husk winced visibly.

The fire crackled.

Aela looked as if she had caught a thief in the act as the man stayed silent. Her eyes squinted, looking at him as if to unravel the rest of his secrets. She knew there was something different about Husk, and she also knew how close she was to discovering the answer.

"My senses are also enhanced due to the...er..."

Aela's brows rose. She didn't ask him to continue. The warrior actually relaxed, sitting back a bit as she waited patiently. She wouldn't have to dig if he offered the information willingly. Interrogation or not, she didn't see herself as a monster.

Husk stopped for a moment before grimacing. His lips became pressed into a thin line as he eyed the woman across the blaze. Surely she could already tell what he was about to say. The Silverhand's had known from the first moment they'd captured him.

Husk finally spoke. "...due to the Elven blood I share."

The slight hint of surprise on Aela's face as she looked at him in the fires light caught Husk off guard.

Her eyes began to trace the outline of the point of his ears. Though rather blunt for elf standards it was not hard to notice now that Husk had admitted his bloodline. It also explained his softer voice, even the way he stepped. Maybe even his height. Aela began to look for other telltale signs of his heritage, though gave up after a brief moment.

Perhaps his build was that of an elf as well, but there was no way to tell with the starvation shaping his body. Husk had long forgotten what he looked like when properly fed anyways.

Aela blinked slowly in thought before telling him to continue with yet another wave of her hand. "Although not important, it does help to know what you are."

"Dose it now," Husk questioned plainly. He took no enjoyment from their conversation.

"It does." Aela made no further attempt to explain, and motioned again.

Husk sighed deeply. He'd foolishly hoped that the small bit of information would be enough to sate her, but he was clearly, deeply, wrong. With his eyes still watching the blaze, his voice rose. Regret in every word. "The Silverhand hunt werewolves, but they need to find the packs first...."

He didn't need to look to know the way Aela's eyes narrowed at the way he had left his sentence trailing. Her predator-like gaze focused on his face. She was most likely already putting the pieces together in her head as she listened to his testimony.

Husk licked his lips nervously as he proceeded. She could either say it, and he could agree - or he could admit it. The latter was easier. "I helped them."

Aela made a small 'ah' sound as the pieces fit together.

"I didn't want to, but I did it. Well enough to stay alive, I suppose." Husk's voice faded off as he tried yet again to read the woman's face, hoping for a hint at what she would do next.

Aela nodded to herself. Without warning she pulled her blade from it's sheath - just enough to show a little bit of the steel.    
  
The act worried Husk deeply as he began to explain again, uncertainty a little more evident. He was expecting a beating at most, not to be cut by her sword. He may deserve death, but he hadn't wanted to do what he'd done. He had no choice. "Before you and Vilkas showed up they had locked me away. My handler had died, and they didn't know what else to do. But...then you two freed me."

Aela continued to stare, expecting more. Waiting for him to admit something further that would finally explain the feeling of dread she felt. If she wondered whether the bodies they had found were a result of his help, she didn't bother to ask.

After talking so much, Husk was almost out of breath, stress hanging around him so clearly that a blind-man could see it. He had begun to shiver lightly, even though they were basking in the fires warm glow.

Aela did not like how Husk had said her friend's name with such care. She smiled at the wounded man, becoming rather pleased with his fear. She then began to play with it, to drag anything else from him. If he had helped the Silverhand hunt down Werewolves, surely he had to know something important about the organization. All she needed to do now was make him think that he had to tell her what he knew.

"How many werewolves have you killed yourself, Husk?" Aela asked. "How many of our brethren have you sent to Hircine? How many of them have you torn down with your claws?"

Husk's eyes became empty as he looked down, clearly in shame."Thirty Six" he answered quietly.

"...You,” Aela trailed off as stared. “The smallest man I've ever known, has killed thirty six werewolves...by yourself?" She had not expected that.

Husk gave a small nod and shuddered as a memory flashed before him. "I was in better health when I did it though," he mumbled, forcing a joking tone.

Aela felt pride rise up in her chest. It was no small feat to take down so many werewolves, especially as young as he was. He could easily become a valuable member of the Companions - that is, if she could make Husk think that joining the Companions would clear his name. Her dread lessened. Perhaps they could use him against his old captors and finally win!

"How long have you served the Silverhand, Husk?"

Husk yet again answered her, his voice barely above a sad scarce whisper. "Twenty five years."

Horror made her blood run cold as she realized how young he looked. It had to be from the elf blood. They had imprisoned him for most of his life. There was no other explanation.

"That long?" Aela herself was surprised at how softly her question had slipped.

Husk looked up at her sadly as he began to talk. "They've had me since I was...I'm not sure. But I know I was young. Younger than a teenager perhaps.” He paused, trying to remember. He gave up with a sigh. “..I've tried to run away while they were either too drunk or busy killing to notice, but I could never get too far. I learned to follow orders if I wanted to survive." He lifted his hand to his face before dragging it down to his neck, where he held the edge of the collar. "They don't let you forget easily either."

At this Aela raised an eyebrow in surprise and curiosity. So that's where the collar had come from. Probably the burn as well. It fit with his story, so she believed him. There was no reason not to.

"Why would you want to survive if you were nothing but a dog for them?" The question had been true, to willingly survive but continue as a slave… It did not make sense.

Husk gave a small cruel sarcastic laugh as he answered. It sent a small chill down Aela's spine as the malevolent tone. It had been filled with hate and venom, though who it had been for, his captors or himself, was unknown.

"Because I wanted to live long enough to  _ escape _ ."

The reply softened Aela's face in sympathy, but stashed it away for the hard look of before.

She had to make sure there were no reasons they had kept him alive to be found. Husk had helped track down werewolves before, there was a chance he would scout their whereabouts as well.

The Companions' location was well known nestled in the center of Whiterun. Anyone from a villager to a distant farm worker knew where the building stood tall, governed by the Dragonborn of yore. There was little secrecy over the Companions except for the beast blood that ran with them into battle; yet their true weakness had been carefully hidden away. Should the Silverhand ever realize their passage back into Whiterun hidden on the high cliff, their family would be destroyed in one fell swoop.

She needed to rule that out before she could even think about continuing to take him to Jorrvaskr.

"Keep talking, I want to know the real reason they left you alive and not just hear some pity story."

Husk huffed, frustrated with the woman across from him. It was as if his past had been nothing more than blind chatter. The anger and exhaustion showed as he replied. "I've already told you why they kept me alive!" For once Husk raised his voice,

Aela scoffed bitterly and spoke without thinking. "Your masters you mean, right hound? I'm certain you would cater to every beck and call, happy to hunt by their sides. It's what your blood demands. To hunt, to feed, and to tear open any flesh you can get your claws on."

Husk's face turned white as he stared wide eyed as Aela continued to scoff his pain.

"You could have left at any time, but you didn't. You stayed and you played their games for your own amusement. If you could kill your own kind you could have killed them easily."

Before she could do anything Husk was struggling to get up on his feet. He was shaking vividly now. The innocent face changed into one of a cornered beast. "They tortured and killed innocents, and did unspeakable things when I could not fight back! They kept me always hurt, so that I could never truly attack them to escape! They always kept me weak, but I tried to get away from their madness! I couldn't fight back, they had silver everywhere!"

Aela was not shocked at the sudden change of the werewolf. But to her dismay he was now yelling loudly enough she was certain her comrade would hear him and return. How such a small body could force out such a loud sound was beyond her.

"They forced me almost every day of my life to track and kill and to serve their needs; if I didn't..." Husk's voice cracked. He swallowed and shook his head in shock. The woman who had saved him, had seen him at his worst, was now comparing him to a common willing hound. "And you say I wanted to be there?! I've tried to leave but they've always caught me, always brought me back, Always-"    
  
A violent cough tore from his throat as he turned around, spewing phlegm and blood onto the dirt below.

Aela could see the panic that had grown quickly from being toyed with.

Husk wiped his mouth off on his sleeve. There had been blood. He stared at the spots fearfully. He jolted suddenly as a pain rushed up his spine, making him gasp. His face was scrunched and his eyes were closed while he reached behind himself to touch his wound. Blood dripped onto the ground behind him. He paled further as he stared at his blood covered hand.

Aela scowled as the cornered man seemed to return to the injured youth. She almost felt sorry for her actions. Nevertheless she knew what, and who, they were dealing with now. She would be able to give Elriah a full report and assure him there was no reason to suspect Husk or his worry of his captors.

Aela stood and sighed. Her comment had gone too far, that much was certain as Husk stood hunched over from pain. The wound had no doubt torn open as it dripped onto the dirt, turning the brown into a muddied scarlet hue. If she could manage to get Husk to sit the wounds could be tended to while he calmed.

Aela approached cautiously. He paid her no heed as she walked around the fire.

"Husk?"

He refused to look up, still looking down at his hand.

Aela raised her hands to grab his shoulder and lower him, but a hand felt oddly heavy. She had forgotten she had pulled out her blade as she cursed herself under her breath.

"Don't," Husk whispered. In his still shaken state all he saw her weapon half drawn. He took a step back and tried to cover his wound with his arms.

"Husk, you need to-"

"Don't come any closer Aela. You're no better than they are!" His voice fell horace, broken. "I thought things would be  _ different _ ."

"I was wrong to say what I did." Aela spoke, her tone forced softer. "Things  _ will _ be different but first we need to get that bandaged." She stepped forward, putting the blade back in it's sheath. "I understand the Silverhand-"

Husk took another step back, shaking his head.

"Don't."

Any pity Aela felt dissolved as she glanced at Husk's face as the once blue eyes turned feral. Their gentleness had vanished completely as they glared with hatred.

"You’re just another captor," he whispered. In a single blink his pupils became slits as he bore his teeth. The collar made a sickening cracking sound as fur began to sprout around it.

Aela decided to use the blade.


	12. An Ill Fated Stranger

Even as a warrior, there were some enemies that knew how to hide far too well. Able to blend in with the brush, and hide the gleam of their blades. Vilkas was looking for something just as sharp… or at least it was a sharp leaf, if he remembered right.

Vilkas scanned the area about him for any sign of helpful plant life. But all he had come across was grass, rotten fungi, and an old beggar's corpse. So far the only helpful result was the distant hum of Nirnroot and occasional nightshade - the later plant he kept far away from his rucksack.

The rest of the search continued to no avail. Even the tree that Aela had spoken of seemed to have vanished into thin air. Of course he'd found many living oaks - but none so white and dead as she'd described. Still, even as Vilkas continued diligently; his mind kept drifting back to the smaller Nord.

Vilkas trusted his sister to keep the newest whelp safe, even if the feeling was not mutual. The Companion had noticed the worry on Husk's face as he left, but hadn't thought much of it at the time.

But now that he was walking mindlessly in a forest..? Well, not he had time.

Husk had let Aela tend to his wounds, Vilkas argued with himself. If Husk didn't trust her, he wouldn't have allowed her help. No matter what thoughts went by, at the end the Companion was left shaking his head. It was just something that Vilkas decided to ask about later.

For now he needed to search.

Vilkas stopped walking to stare accusingly at a tree that looked far too familiar. A broken branch dangled in the breeze. A branch Vilkas swore he had broken a mile ago. A frustrated growl resulted as he realized his mistake. "I've been walking in damned circles!"

The voice was just loud enough to send birds scattering into the night air. He grit his teeth as they shot off into the distance. Not only had he been wasting time - he could have given his location away.

Needless to say, the rest of the search was fueled by even more annoyance. As he stomped about looking for the correct way to the damned tree, he caught the sight of a stream. But that's not what finally made him relax. A faint green glow reflected from the water, casting an almost eerie gaze.

At least he knew where the sound of Nirnroot had finally been coming from. His brows knitted together as he tried to recall its healing effect. Elriah had once told him simple herbs to use on the road, though that had been years ago.

And he hadn't listened much.

Picking a way carefully through the thick foliage towards the stream, he prepared to grab it just in case.

Along the way he fought with bushes and vines that would sneak around his boot as he walked. He hacked at them with words and sword. The water flowing next to it was clean and clear, and the sounds of the water helped him to relax.

Vilkas had barely started to bend down to pick the plan as the sound of distant yelling found its way hazily through the trees. He quickly pocketed the herb and tilted his head. At least now that the plant was picked it had stopped making its eerie noise.

It didn't take long for him to stop caring. The Companion was certain it was just another person on the road, yelling at something stupid. Perhaps it was another adventurer or a carriage driver who had broken a wagon wheel. Or maybe some other poor bastard had stumbled across the beggar's corpse. Or a bear.

The warrior would have easily believed any of those possibilities - had A horrifying howl tore not through the air. Worst yet however was how quickly the sound became a scream of pain.

Vilkas' blood ran cold. "…Aela?"

Dread filled Vilkas as another feral cry breached the air.

Branches and thorns hit and tore at him as he ran, already beginning to feel the itch begin under his skin. Coarse fur began to sprout and overtake his body. His mind was stricken with fear and he cursed himself for leaving his Companions alone, and he cursed the beast within him as it began to come forth. His running slowed as his limbs began to lengthen rapidly; making any attempt at running result in awkward stumbling.

He fell to the ground as the changes became too severe for him to handle.

Vilkas' hands stretched out before him as they grabbed at the dirt. Fingers became sharp as nails and shot out. His breathing hitched painfully as his spine shot upward and his legs contorted into long muscular limbs followed soon by the twisting of his arms and the ache in his neck. His gums and teeth began to itch as they grew within the snarling jaws.

Within moments the transformation finished; leaving a large black Werewolf where the Nord once stood.

The armor, which had fallen off, was wrapped around his leg by the fur kilt as Eorlund had intended. But that didn't matter. His thoughts were as frantic as his beast.

Vilkas began to run again as the noises began to change from the distant muffled screams into resounding clangs and clashing of weapons. He hoped that no one saw him as he dashed across the road. Normally he would make sure that he wasn't spotted, but now he needed to get back to the camp as quickly as he could. Fear and rage pushed him faster. Vilkas feared that the Silverhands had found his Companions as the sounds grew louder and more frantic.

He reached the camp as Aela swung the hilt of her sword into the werewolf's back wound; sending fire lit blood into the air. She ducked a swipe from its paws; using the hilt of her sword to dig into the already existing wound on her opponent. The beast wrinkled its muzzle in anger as saliva dripped from its jaws. A savage unearthly shriek poured forth as it stood up on his powerful hind legs, strong rippling muscles showing their strength.

Vilkas crouched low as he entered the camp and eyed about for any other attackers. The creature swung his paw out and missed by mere inches sending Aela a foot back as she evaded the attack. They circled each other in the tight camp. The fire still burned behind them just as Vilkas had left it, leaving eerie shadows as it danced across the fighters and reflected in their eyes.

The fire's light caught the gleam of metal, catching Vilkas's attention. A silver collar was fitted around the werewolf's neck as it gleamed; now stretched and protecting the tender flesh of the throat from attack. Vilkas could only stare in awe and confusion as he realized who it was fighting his sister.

The little Nord wasn't so little anymore.

It was the first time Vilkas had seen Husk basking in the beast blood, let alone the first time he saw him fight. It was not a sight he ever expected to see. Not so soon. Not against his _sister_. Husk twisted and turned as he fought, clashing sword and shield with tooth and claw.

Husk was truly basking in the blood in every sense of the word.

The beast turned as the fire caught the subtle glistening of the burn, creating the appearance of a grotesque monster while fangs shone dangerously. Husk's fur was a mix of browns that would dip into shades of pale red and mingled with splatters of blood. A stripe of the color began at the scruff of his neck and trailed down into the fur on his tail; displacing there and merging with the browns. Scars lined the wolf's body though were hidden below the mass of knotted fur making them difficult to see; all except for the large burn that stretched heavily across his face. It covered his eye, yet unlike in his human form, rendered the eye useless as it was almost burnt shut; leaving it a shining slit among the red flesh.

Husk's frame remained still small and emaciated - yet there was no doubt in the power of his muscles that were moving rapidly under the bloodied fur.

Husk was bleeding from deep gashes on his long narrow muzzle and above his non burnt eye. The smell of fear and hatred was stronger than any other scent, even stronger than the blood that littered the ground in large crimson pools.

It dripped into his eye.

Husk rapidly blinked to clear his vision; never letting Aela out of his sight. He stumbled as his foot was caught up in what used to be his clothing. He kicked it off quickly, but never broke eye contact with the nord woman in front of him as he snarled and showed pointed yellow fangs - all while Aela snarled back.

Aela had smaller wounds on her left side that dipped down onto her leg - likely from a swipe from the blind werewolf's claws. Her armor had kept her intact as it took the blows, rendering attacks to only leave long scores on the metal instead of her flesh.

Vilkas stared at the jagged claws, amazed that they were even there as they once again clawed deep lines into the steel.

Vilkas was confused on how the fight even began as he took in the bloody scene. No Silverhands lay dead nearby nor was even the scent of bandits present.

He didn't understand why - but he needed to stop it.

He desperately tried to think of a way to stop it. His mind was blank as he watched Husk snap at Aela's blade, only to block a hit moments after with a raised paw. Aela swung her sword swiftly again; this time at his muzzle. The blow landed, leaving another good sized slice. Husk returned the favor by swiping at her again with his claws as he howled in pain. Aela barely avoided the move as it scraped her armor creating a terrible sound as the metal shrieked.

She retaliated by launching herself and her blade at him.

Vilkas did what he could think of first, and went to the other werewolf to try and pull him away from Aela's swinging blade. If he grabbed Aela it would leave room for an attack by Husk. The mad wolf could easily attack the both of them and Vilkas would be left with only seconds to react. He had decided quickly that he'd rather take his chances with Aela hacking him with her blade than the snapping of another werewolf's jaws.

Vilkas leapt from the bushes and flew towards Husk. He attempted to grab Husk's scruff as he quickly closed the distance between them. Husk had been too focused on the norseman in front of him to hear the other werewolf coming from behind. He snarled fiercely as teeth grabbed at his fur, turning almost rabidly onto his new assailant.

The Companion didn't expect Husk to suddenly turn on him, or to snap at his neck. Husk either did not recognize him - or just didn't care as he tried to bury his teeth deep into Vilkas' jugular. When the attack failed Husk bared his fangs again and snapped even harder at the warrior's shoulder.

Vilkas knew the intent behind the move. It was to tear and disable his arm, leaving him open for attack while being left with little defense.

He shoved the beast away quickly putting distance back between them.

Husk knew what he was doing.

A deep growl rose from his throat angrily as he kept the beast at bay. Husk was an experienced killer who knew quite well where to bite, Vilkas realized as his stomach turned. Husk returned the growl just as deep, viciously signaling he would not back down. Vilkas's hackles rose higher as a trickle of fear crept into his human mind.

He briefly wondered whose fear he had really smelt in the field after all.

This killer was the lad he had freed, but there was little left of the pathetic nord now.

Vilkas dodged another bite from the other werewolf as it leapt - and had no choice but to return his own.

Struggling to avoid Husk's jaws, Vilkas bit back a yelp as claws sliced deeply into his skin as Husk tore into his ribs. He felt his own blood seep into his fur as he continued to try and grab the other wolf. Vilkas saw no openings, leaving him with only one option.

Rules be damned, the werewolf needed to be stopped! He had to try to trick the wolf into giving him an opportunity.

Vilkas backed away from the other werewolf and began to circle him. Husk did the same, all while growling and raising his lips in a snarl. His once kind eyes were now fierce and filled with primal instinct, ready to spill the blood that Vilkas had fought his own cravings for.

Aela stood to the side panting and forgotten as her brother fought in his beastly form. Her own beast itched under the surface but she knew better than to call upon it. Too long. Too many openings. Too much weakness. She prepared to jump in again.

Vilkas's dark fur clashed against the red of Husk as the two fought. Claws and teeth shone almost white from open maws and large powerful paws. Husk might be quick and lean, but Vilkas was _powerful_. Aela watched as the two danced about as they fought, proud powerful beasts filled with instinct and their beast blood. Aela could only imagine what Husk was like without the silver keeping his strength in check.

She was thankful that she'd never have to find out.

Vilkas stood straight as he returned the growls and vicious snarls. As he stood he let his own neck be open for attack.

He ignored Aela's warning shout.

Husk gave a frightening howl, leaping towards the Companion. Vilkas saw his chance. Quickly he dipped his head as Husk went for his throat. Without a moment to spare he clamped his jaws on the scruff before violently slamming Husk into the ground. The silver burned and tore at his muzzle, searing his very teeth as he was left biting harder down.

It had worked.

The werewolf exhaled sharply before becoming still. His eyes darted around, pinned in the jaws that held him in place. The lycan seemed to realize that the fight was over; he had lost, and knew exactly who was now holding him down.

Aela approached the werewolf; putting the blade to his neck. Vilkas growled at his sister in warning.

"I know you can understand me, Husk. Change back or else I _will_ kill you."

Husk did as he was told and began to shift back into his human shape.

Vilkas was taken back by the realization of what was happening. Husk could will, and was willing his own change. He did not have to wait for the blood to die down like his own. In the surprise of the moment Vilkas forgot that he was holding what was now becoming human Husk's head and shoulders. Quickly he opened his jaws, releasing the shivering body from his grasp. Vilkas could feel his own change nearing as his muscles tired. He backed away.

Red fur ebbed away, falling about him as he took a more human shape. His large clawed paws were now becoming flimsy nailless hands. The burn became less pulled as it fitted and took form on a smaller face. Husk fell forward as his powerful legs began to wilt into pale scared limbs, leaving him resting on his now forming knees. His eyes were closed as sizzling metal began to shrink, though no pain showed on his fully formed features.

Husk had lost. He accepted his defeat and waited for what would come.

Once the transformation was complete a nude and shivering Husk was left kneeling in the dirt. He was out of breath and trembling from exhaustion. He did not appear to notice or care about his lack of clothes. The scent of burning flesh filled the air as the collar fitted itself, burning its way onto the skin again. The wounds from his fight carried over as well and were bleeding heavily.

"Look at me Husk," Aela commanded.

Husk did as he was told and met her eyes. Unlike his body, his eyes refused to admit defeat. He glared at her accusingly as silence finally befelled the camp. He was left using his remaining energy to focus on breathing steadily. Even as Husk continued to blink away the blood that clouded his eye, the look of accusation never left. Aela had lost his trust. If he felt hurt emotionally he gave no hint. Her words had gone too far for him to forgive. He looked at her as he had once done to the corpses of his captors.

Aela glared back, and replied with one sharp kick to the man's head.

Husk dropped.

Vilkas was shaking with fury by the time he had changed back into his own human form. His change had begun while Husk had fallen. It took longer than the initial change had been, feeling like hours as he waited for his body to return to the Nord form he fought so hard to preserve from the beast blood. As he changed, Aela grabbed some rope from her bag and tied it around Husk's arms and legs.

As doused the fire and packed up their supplies, she filled in her only brother left in the camp.

"He's their hunter. The only reason they kept him alive was to track down packs for them to exterminate." Aela scowled as she continued to get ready to leave. "He's borderline feral when transformed. It's a wonder how they ever had control over him." The words could have been awe, had they not been masked by pure hatred in that moment. "Either way it's no concern of ours now."

Vilkas felt his heart drop as he listened. His change reached its end as Aela continued to tell him her findings. Husk was unresponsive at his feet, unconscious and bloody, wounds dripping, making his small frame look even more brittle as the white skin became stained.

Vilkas's hand rose to his slashed chest, thankfully finding the wounds to be shallow. They had not crossed over as deep as they had been originally; making him somewhat thankful for the small miracles his blood bore. Thick blood covered his hand as he pulled it away. Vilkas listened and heard of the things that had happened to Husk. To be taken when he was but a child... it sent a shudder down his spine.

He dressed quickly.

Vilkas went to check on Husk, but was stopped midway by Aela. Her voice was as cold as her eyes as she stared him down.

"I don't know what you think you're doing. He's worked for the Silverhands and I will not risk Jorrvaskr getting pounced on again by them." Her eyes hardened further. "Leave their pet here, and let's go. He may seem innocent now but for all we know it is an act. He can turn feral at a moment's notice."

Any hope she had of using Husk was now dead and gone. It would be impossible to train a full blooded werewolf, let alone one who could suddenly become feral. There was too much risk. Had there been trust, then perhaps there would have been a chance, but now that trust was gone and would take far too long to regain. If it was possible at all.

Vilkas stood before confronting Aela with as much calm as he could muster. "We both know who started that fight, Aela. He was already injured and you provoked him, no, interrogated him!" The way Aela had fought was clear. She had not been caught off guard. Vilks threw his arms out. _"What did you expect him to do?"_ His effort at calm did not make it far as he finished his sentence with a slight hiss in his voice.

Aela glared at the crumpled form of Husk before responding.

"We both saw how he acted towards you when you tried to intervene, and I know you saw how we fought. There was no innocent half blooded in that beast, only a trained killer." Aela looked her Shieldbrother in the eyes as she continued. "He's a _threat_ Vilkas, pure and simple." Vilkas tried to argue - but Aela's raised hand silenced the words in his throat. "Either we leave him here and give him a sliver of a chance ,or we take care of this how we should have back in the cell. We tried our best to do right by him Vilkas, but there is too much of a risk. We _can't_ risk bringing him home to turn on our shield-siblings."

For a moment nothing was said as Vilkas turned to look at Husk, mouth pulled into a grimace as he thought of what to say. The quiet was as thick as the air polluted by the smell of battle. He appeared distressed as he tried to come up with an argument to defend Husk; concern clear to see.

"I know what you mean Aela, yet…" Vilkas's argument died in his throat as he looked back at the body. New words formed in their place. "…We killed the Silverhand, there's no one that will come after him. I'm certain if he's not forced it would never lead to this again."

Vilkas sounded pathetic and he knew it. A proud warrior of the Companions who had killed one of everything was now trying to pardon the actions of the lad who had just tried to kill him and his sister. He hated the way he had instantly defended Husk, Aela was right and he knew it. Husk's other side scared him, but to kill him or abandon him scared him more.

He couldn't explain it, but even his beast blood boiled, however it boiled to protect.

Aela shook her head at his reaction; it was not like her Shieldbrother to suddenly give any thought towards a werewolf; nor was it for him to show emotion so plainly. In her mind that sealed Husk's fate. She could not risk her brother and her home for one ill-fated stranger.

"I'm sorry Brother, but there is too much at stake. You _need_ to accept that Husk is a _threat_."

Vilkas nodded solemnly as he scowled. He snarled suddenly in frustration and began to scrub his face with his hands to rid himself of the sweat from his brow. He had seen them fight, and he knew now that Husk was more than a helpless lad; no matter how broken he looked. But Husk was barely begun to taste freedom.

Vilkas felt a hand on his shoulder guiding him away from the scene. Vilkas glanced at his Sister sadly, finally giving in as he muttered an agreement. Aela patted his shoulder in a brief, and rare, act of comfort before leaving to collect her bags.

Husk's face was pale, making the burn stand out even more. Vilkas pressed his lips into a fine line. How could such a small Halfling be as fierce as a beast? Had the Silverhands really gotten into his mind so much they had shaped him into a tool of death, and controlled his actions even now?

Husk exhaled slowly while he lay bleeding on the ground. His body relaxed fully into the dirt.

Vilkas felt his heart stop as the lad became a corpse before him.

Vilkas found himself checking for a pulse frantically as he moved the body so that it was lying on its back. Dirt clung to the blood on Husk's skin and had found ways into the wounds themselves. Vilkas pressed his ear into the chest listening for any signs of breathing. The sound of his heart roaring in his ears overpowered any other noise.

Vilkas took the scarred hand in his own as he searched the wrist. There would be no way to check his neck due to the collar. Then again, he'd be searching for a pulse that he wasn't even sure was there.

Vilkas sighed in relief as his fingers finally found a small rhythm. Aela stood behind Vilkas as he carefully began to place the hand back down by Husk's side. But as he did so, Vilkas came across a final and even more disturbing discovery.

Burns from the silver bars had left scars on Husk's palms. He had tried to escape; the burns a clear sign of that, but worse and ever more clear was just how many of the burns were layered; some looking as if he had grasped fire itself trying to escape.

Vilkas knew as soon as he would let his grasp slacken that Husk would be left for death again. There had been so much trust the lad had placed in him when he first stepped into the cell, the look of thanks from the braid he had gotten had said as much, as well as the surprise when he had received the gift of a meager bedroll. The Companion's heart hurt sharply at the thought of betraying that trust by leaving him to die.

Aela placed a hesitant hand on Vilkas's back, but before Alea could speak he shook her hand away.

"I will not leave him to die, though I agree that he is a risk." Vilkas continued with a steady voice, ignoring the look of irritation burning into him. His voice was hard, forced. "If he is as much of a threat as you say then I will put him down _myself_. If not he will attempt to return to Jorrvaskr so we can try and help him fit into society. The only reason he acted out was because he was provoked and unless he does it on his own for no good reason, then he is not a threat."

The stubborn look he sent to Aela only fueled the fire as she began to argue more. "Vilkas. That _thing_ could very well lead the Silverhand to us. Do you want a repeat of what killed Kodlak? Do you _want_ to lose another Companion just because you tried to save a stranger?" Her voice rose sharply as her arms did so as well. "What if our new Harbinger dies too, what will you tell your brother? That you killed his husband to try and play _charity_ to a random _Silverhand_?"

Vilkas ignored her and plucked Husk off of the dirt, grunting from the effort. It had still been quick as he moved with agitation. The words, as well as his wounds, stung but he kept the pain at bay. He needed to focus on Husk now, not his sister.

Aela frowned and continued to argue, but to no avail. She finally gave in as Vilkas started to speak up once more. "He did what he did while cornered by them, Aela. He has no reason to do so now."

He shot her a glare before mumbling under his breath. "I hope you are happy now that you've forced an injured person as well as your own _shield brother_ into becoming such a beast." Vilkas had said the words with such venom that it actually startled Aela, who began to argue again, but stopped as Vilkas began to turn to walk away carrying the lad.

"If you leave Vilkas I will not follow." She warned graveley. "I will not help a killer or my own brother if it means losing more of my family to _them_."

There was no reaction.

She watched her Shieldbrother leave without even a look behind him, only stopping once to grab and throw the new bedroll and his rucksack over his shoulder.

Vilkas left the camp, leaving Aela to do nothing but treat her own wounds.

His choice had been made.


	13. A Friendless Camp

Never in his long years as a warrior had Vilkas left a fellow Companion behind. Even in the heat of battle he’d press on, forcing back their foes with his sword and unyielding rage - refusing to let their enemies gain the upper hand.   
  
Never before had walked away, casting a shield sibling aside. He was a true Companion. Honor guided his blade, and the loyalty for his shield-siblings was unmatched. He’d never left one of his family behind…   
  
At least, not until today.    
  
Bitterness clung in the air around the hardened warrior. His only mission, now that it was clear the poachers were a trap, was to walk forward. To where however, he had no idea. All he knew was that he needed to leave the camp far behind him, and ensure the bastard he was carrying wouldn't be gutted like the bastard he was.    
  
Husk, thankfully unconscious, took a temporary reprieve in the way of blocking the Companion’s sword arm.    
  
Vilkas snarled, lip curled in utter disgust as his eyes were forced straight ahead. Rage, guilt, and disgust churned in his stomach as he forced himself to keep walking. He’d left Aela behind. He’d left his sister. But even worse was why.   
  
Vilkas, a Companion, had taken the side of a Silverhand.   
  
A huff tore bitterly from the warriors lips.  _ No _ . He’d taken the side of a man forced to work for the Silverhand. But that did not make him innocent. Just like a sword still spilt blood, no matter who’s hand took the chance to wield it. The urge to help the poor bastard didn't blind Vilkas to the truth. Husk had been a blade. A killing tool.    
  
Vilkas had chosen a tool over the flesh and blood of a fellow Companion.    
  
Divines - the war inside his head ached worse than the clawmarks on his chest. Unable to pause to tend to them, the wounds were left to the beast blood to handle. Had it not been for the earlier transformation, Vilkas knew the woulds would be gushing. Just as it had under Husk’s claws.   
  
Vilkas’ thoughts continued to churn. He could go back. Aela would probably still be back at camp. Their tent was set up, all of her supplies were still there, and a fire was already set. There would be no reason for her to want to leave.   
  
Except that she was injured.    
  
But she was  _ capable _ ! Vilkas had to force himself to remember all the bandit’s she’d slain in the past. The missions only she had accepted. Aela would be fine. She had lived through worse wounds on the road, and a few measly gashes from claws was…   
  
Vilkas shook his head.   
  
He was a bastard.    
  
Aela was capable, yes, but she had no reason to be in the situation he’d left her in. All of this, because he refused to let her kill the bastard he was now forced to lug around.    
  
“You best wake up soon,” the Companion glowered. “I refuse to carry you to town.”   
  
There was no response.    
  
Shaking his head, Vilkas was left with only the open road and the emptiness that was his plan. He’d left camp, meaning he would have to make another. Night was already fast approaching, and with a bloodied breathing corpse in his arms, it was a matter of when predators would take note. Not  _ if _ .    
  
For now, all there was to guide him was the silence of the road. No one had noticed a lone Companion or his charge yet, and he hoped it would stay that way.    
  
It did not take long for his ears to begin to ring. Years of fighting had left him with many head wounds, and his ears were no different. Bangs and clattering of his helmet had rattled his eardrums more than he’d ever broken bones. Without the chatter of his sister, the silence started the sound.   
  
It was always the silence that started it.   
  
The ringing was loud in his head, cramming out his thoughts - but not enough to force away the memories of his sister's face. The hurt and betrayal in her eyes... It stung.  Just as Aela’s words had.    
  
The Companion glanced behind him. If he turned back perhaps he could mend things, and divines help him  _ maybe _ even convince her to help give Husk another chance.   
  
But why would she? Better question, why had  _ he _ ? 

  
As if the divines had heard his thoughts, a distraction stole away any thoughts that could answer the question he’d rather pretend didn't need to be answered at all. Footsteps fell behind his own. Wordlessly the Companion paused, letting his shield-sister take pace beside him.    
  
Coarse linen bandages poked out from underneath her armor, leaving guilt to tear at Vilkas further. The wounds were superficial and posed no real threat, but that didn't change the fact that they were  _ there _ .    
  
If she was in pain however, Aela’s stance refused to show it. Her eyes straight ahead and on the road. Vilkas soon found himself doing the same.   
  


“I didn't mean to attack you, Brother,” She finally spoke. “You may have done something foolish, idiotic, and  _ thickheaded _ ...but I am sorry for what I said. I know you would never let harm fall onto another Harbinger.”   
  
Her words were enough to win over a curt nod, but no reply came.    
  
In his guilt, he’d almost forgotten her exact words. But now that he remembered, Vilkas found it hard to swallow her apology. But he did so anyways. Too much blood and betrayal had been spilt that night as it was.    
  
“…You were correct, what I did was wrong. though it was necessary.” She continued. Her shoulders were stiff as she scanned the road before them. “I waited for you to leave to interrogate him. It was the only way to get any truth out of him.”   
  
“About?”   
  
Aela glared at her brother, but her eyes returned to the road. “It was too convenient. The only survivor in that hellhole, a potion just a few rooms away, the inability to remember his name….surely you can't say that you didn't notice.”   
  
Vilkas gave another nod. “No name meant no way of knowing where he came from.”   
  
“Exactly. Or what he’d done before winding up in the Silverhand’s clutches. He is a rather sneaky bastard after all.” Even with what had happened in the camp, the two Companions found themselves sharing a small chuckle despite it.   
  
“Aye,” Vilkas managed a small grin. “I’d thought he’d possibly been a thief. Managed to scrounge up those bags of gold for us rather quickly after all.”   
  
Aela blinked - only to return the grin widely. “I hadn't thought of that, but you could be onto something. Perhaps he got caught stealing from the Silverhand. …. Though it’s hard to imagine a werewolf thief,” she admitted plainly. “But I suppose howling at the moon doesn't make much in the way of gold.”    
  
Needless to say, another chuckle was soon shared, as were memories of old jobs they’d taken together. Still, as the night grew further, so did their topics return.   
  
“And I let my actions go too far....I know you understand that.” Aela continued. “But I also know you understand  _ why _ . I couldn't allow anyone so suspicious into our home without taking care of the situation. If I did, I’d be no better than the guards who let the Silverhand kill Kodlak.”   
  
“Didn't you later kill those guards?” Vilkas huffed, amusement coloring his voice as he shifted the unconscious man in his arms.    
  
“Not that the Jarl can prove - or that the Harbinger knows about.”   
  
“...I’m starting to remember why not to cross you.” Although it had been said in jest, Vilkas had slipped some truth under his words. Words that Aela clearly took note of from her growing frown.    
  
“You’d do well to remember that. But, for what it’s worth it's not  _ you _ I'm crossed with.” She motioned to Husk. “He served the silverhand. That is a tall crime to try and ignore.”   
  
Vilkas’ lip curled at the accusation. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not ignoring it.”   
  
“But you are by continuing this charade. Heroicisim for you is commendable - but it’s only going to end badly.”

  
“Aye,” Vilkas nodded. His steps remained calm and precise, even with the weight in his arms. “And I already told you what I’d do if that happened.”   
  
“…Did you really mean it when you said you would put him down should he act out again?” Aela looked at her brother as she spoke. Her brows were drawn together, her gaze serious, searching. As if looking for some semblance of the friend she felt as if she’d lost to the stranger.

  
Vilkas nodded, “Aye, and I would without a second thought.”

  
“But you won't leave him and prevent it entirely.”   
  
“I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”   
  
Aela normally would have prodded further, but allowed a final defeat to befall her that night. With a heavy sigh she shook her head. Her brother was stubborn. It was a trait he was known for, only seconded by the avid bloodlust in battle.    
  
Though so was she. Aela was the only other companion who could match her brother, turn for turn. With words, and blood. And although Vilkas had won this battle, she had every reason to continue forward with the war. It was the reason she continued to speak, even when knowing just how cruel her words were. They were closer to a curse than a statement - but they were unable to be stopped.    
  
“Just like your promise to hold back your beast.”    
  
Vilkas growled lowly in warning. His blue eyes glared her way, glowing with intent should she continue her verbal path.   
  
“You don’t trust your own wolf but you’ll trust a  _ stranger _ that attacked a fellow Companion,” Aela sneered. Disgust filled her voice as she stared back at her brother - challenging his glare with her own. “I wanted to help Husk as well but my own gut tells me that something is deeply wrong with him, something dark. If we brought him back that darkness could swallow us whole.”    
  
“Aela-”   
  
She ignored Vilkas’s attempt to speak. “After all, It already seems to have you  _ snagged _ .” The warrior shook her head with clear and final decision. “I will not risk my home for a  _ monster _ , Vilkas.”

  
“Then I wish you well on your journey home.”    
  
Silence fell over the road. A soundless war, both hoping the other would crack and see reason. Had it been any other Companion, there could have been a chance for someone to remain the victor - but even though both warriors had points, they had even stronger  _ prides _ .   
  
In the end, neither won as they came towards a split in the road.

  
“Is there a way to change your mind and make you see reason?” Aela finally spoke.

  
Vilkas did not respond, continuing his silence while Aela’s eyes bore into him. It had been a brazen choice to save Husk in the first place, let alone the second, but he refused to change it for the third time. 

  
He let her pass without another word or even a look of acknowledgement. He did not see his sister turn around farther down the trail in a last hopeful effort, before she finally vanished down a seperate road. Nor would he have cared.   
  
All he cared for now was proving her wrong - and saving the silver bastard he had chosen.

  
***   
  
The road continued ever on, as did his thoughts. A battle had been won, but there was still a war. Vilkas wasn't stupid. His sister had left his side, but she did not leave the fight. There would still be words, and even more bloodshed before it was all over.    
  
He could only hope it wasn't his own.    
  
But if betraying his sister meant staying true to being a Companion - then he’d do so without question. Husk was in their care. Past or not, allowing her to strike Husk down before returning to Jorrvaskr for trial would have been a sin. Innocent or not, Husk knew things. Things that could turn the tide of their war.   
  
But only if he survived the night.   
  
“Best wake soon, or else we might have to hide by the road.” The threat went unheeded. Vilkas growled bitterly.   
  
The Companion was left to further silence.   
  
Unable to do much else, Vilkas mauled over what Aela had told him from the interrogation. How Husk had hunted and tracked down werewolves, as well as the other more personal details that made his heart ache and his blood boil for vengeance. He thought about how Husk was not a true norseman. He thought of the beast blood Husk had been born with.

  
He also thought of the Silverhand, and the cruelty they dealt.   
  
Vilkas understood why his sister had vouched to leave Husk behind. Aela was worried for the safety of the Companions which was by all means justifiable… but he could not abandon Husk.    
  
Vilkas was many things, but he wasn't heartless - or stupid either. Reluctantly he acknowledged that he would have come to the same conclusion and  _ decision _ if in Aela’s place. He would have killed Husk, and spoke nothing of the rescue attempt to his Harbinger. But he hadn't, even though the thought of killing him was ever present. Vilkas meant what he said. That should have been enough. The promise of bloodshed and vengeance should have stated his sister.   
  
Vilkas tried not to dwell on that thought.

  
The Companion shook his head. It didn't matter. Jorrvaskr was still far away, and his arms were getting tired. He couldn't hold a sword like this. Something needed to change, and fast.   
  


“Elriah might agree with Aela and have my head, but that’s a risk I’ll need to take. With your fighting style and knowledge of the Grey-feet you could be useful;” Vilkas mused aloud. “Elriah won’t turn that down. If nothing else Farkas did say Elriah was a bit of a sap for sad stories.” 

  
Husk did not respond.

  
“You’d best wake up soon, Husk. I don’t feel like carrying you all the way back to Jorrvaskr, you hear?”

  
Yet again Husk did not react to the humor, or the underlying threat.   
  
Which in the end was a blessing in disguise. Had they talked, Vilks might not have taken notice of the noise that slowly grew. At least, not for another few seconds. The Companion’s footsteps slowed to a complete stop as ill pitched voices sung loud and off-key, slaughtering the previous silence of the road.    
__

_ Hear me prelate most discreet _

_ For indulgence crying: _

_ Deadly sin I find so sweet _

_ I'm in love with dying. _

_ Every pretty girl I meet _

_ Sets my heart a-sighing: _

_ Hands off! _

_ Ah but in conceit _

_ In her arms I’m lying. _

The sheer violent singing was enough to make Vilkas ponder about  _ fulfilling _ a certain verse.   
  
With great care, Vilkas managed to slide Husk from his arms and safely onto the ground. He helped prop the man up against a tree. The movement, clearly painful enough from Aela’s sword, let alone the wound on his back being pressed into the tree bark, was enough to make him whine. Vilkas paused. Husk didn't wake.    
  
Taking another moment to be sure, the Companion finally rose. Husk was alright - as well as he could be in the state of things. That would have to be enough. If nothing else, Vilkas was happy to rub life back into his own exhausted arms. Carrying the bastard had been tiring - bag-of-bones or not.    
  
Following the sounds of voices, Vilkas easily found himself led to a small bandit’s camp, filled with three drunken men and a single woman. His intuition had been right, only bandits would sing so brazenly about such things on the open roads. Let alone be so close. Highwaymen, it seemed.    
  


Vilkas scanned from behind the shelter of trees. The camp had a small tent and a fire, as well as what looked to be adequate,  _ stolen _ , supplies stuffed into crates strewn about. The river was close behind, as was a tied up fishing boat.   
  
Old blood stained their leathers, and the weapons that were strewn about had various bits of rust and wear. Highwaymen without a doubt. The drinking had clouded their minds as well, leaving little room for the basic thought of them staying discreet.    
  
So it was easy for Vilkas to come to the conclusion that if  _ he _ didn't kill them, someone else would.    
  
He could not think of a way more perfect to release the stress and anger he held. 

  
After looking back to make sure Husk was still where he had left him, Vilkas leaped out of the bushes - and gave a battle cry as he attacked. The woman’s head rolled. The other bandits had no time to react, instead yelling in drunken surprise. One tried to put up a fight, but fell straight onto their asses just from trying to stand too fast.

  
The camp was cleared out in a matter of seconds.

  
And as Vilkas stood there, anger finally melting away as his blade dripped with blood, he decided that nothing was easier than dealing with drunken bandits.

  
The bodies were soon dragged to the river, ridding the evidence. He felt no remorse for killing them. Living as a warrior quelled such guilt, and given him the knowledge that he had probably prevented the killings of innocent lives by ending the thugs now. Or avenged those who had already fallen.

  
Vilkas’ lip curled in disgust however, as he looked around the camp. Empty Skooma bottles littered the ground, but some had been crushed underfoot. Shit. He did his best to kick the shards into the bushes, but gave up after a few minutes of trying. Instead he did something mildly helpful, and took to checking the tent. It wasn't a great shelter, but it would work.    
  
And as luck would have it, the tent only smelt  _ slightly _ of booze. Probably because the damned thing was filled with empty bottles.   
  
“Home sweet fucking home,” Vilkas grumbled.    
  
Husk was still where he’d been left thankfully, but unluckily his shaking had begun again, much to the nords dismay. Vilkas huffed in annoyance. He’d have to carry the bastard again. Husk’s lips were parted as he breathed; and as Vilkas began to lift him a groan of pain slipped from them.   
  


A small apology was muttered by the Companion as they made their way back into the camp. Sure he was a heartless bastard, but even Vilkas knew how to give small mercies. Carefully he laid Husk on his stomach, letting the wound on his back finally go untouched.    
  
Vilkas found another reason to grumble as he took Husk’s shirt off.   
  
Aela had been right, there indeed was an infection but now dirt was in the wounds as well. The skin around the wound was bright red with the slightest of yellow streaks as pus began to take hold. Vilkas was meant to fight - not heal. But he did know some things. Enough to know that If the wound didn’t get cleaned soon, there would be little chance for Husk’s survival.   
  
And he’d done too much fucking work to let Husk die that easily.   
  


Despite all that had happened since leaving the first camp, ropes still held fast to Husk’s wrists and ankles. Vilkas pulled out his dagger. The blade paused, unlike the thought that grimly crossed his mind. Aela had been right when she spoke of Husk being a killer. He had done many awful things - if what she said was true, at least. Vilks didn't doubt it. His sister was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them - even if he secretly hoped she was, if just for this moment.   
  


He also hoped that one day he’d be able to stop his thoughts. What if Husk turned again and decided to make good on his earlier attempt? Exhausted or not, Vilkas managed to puff up with confidence. Vilkas knew he could take him. At least now that Husk was injured.

  
With a quick motion the ropes were cut and tossed to the side.

  
“It’s not like those would slow you down anyways,” Vilkas spat under his breath. Annoyed or no, the bastard found himself grinning.

  
Content enough to walk away, Vilkas decided it was time to look through the supplies. Mostly junk, he realized. But there had been some discoveries worth noting. Normally he wouldn't give it any thought, but as a sewing needle and thread came into possession, Vilkas decided he’d looked enough.    
  
He sneered down at the needle in hand while the other weighed the spool of thread. He had never been overly good at patching up others, but he understood the basics. It was either try to mend the wound or let nature do the rest and free Husk to the ever waiting hunting grounds. Vilkas frowned. It was where he would probably  _ want _ to go anyways.   
  
He wasn't a fool. Husk wasn't one either. There would be words, should Husk survive - and even harder questions. It would be easier, and nicer to let the poor bastard die.

  
Sadly, Vilkas’ pride was stronger than his compassion that night.    
  
With a frown Vilkas went back to the lad and knelt beside him. He threaded the needle and put it against the scarred skin, thankful that Husk was still unconscious.

  
  



	14. Doubt, Blood, and Poison Satchels

It was almost six in the morning when the Doors of Jorrvaskr slammed open, waking up almost every Companion. If the doors hadn’t woken them, the sound of Skjor shouting for a healer did. Downstairs the noise had reached the far back room of Jorrvaskr, slipping in through the large oak doors. Elriah sat up in bed as the calamity snapped him from his slumber.   
  
Furniture being moved out of the way thundered through the floorboards. 

Groggily he shook Farkas, who had been sleeping deeply beside him, awake before reaching for his robes. The Harbinger dressed as quickly as he could manage, though was clumsy as sleep still clung to him. Farkas followed suit.  
  
Yelling spurred them on further.  
  
“That doesn’t sound good,” mumbled Elriah. At first he’d hoped it was just another fight among the Companions. But the hope was quickly abandoned as sounds of gasping followed by cursing came from above.  
  
Farkas growled his reply as he finished fashioning his armor. “No, it doesn’t.”  
  
Elriah had steeled his heart for whatever he was about to see - but as he walked into the main hall, there was nothing he could do to stop the way his heart froze.. The Companions were gathered around someone in the middle of the room. There was a thick stench of blood and sweat in the air that became drenched with anxiety. Farkas came up behind him, stopping abruptly as he realized the same thing his husband had.   
  
There was only one person, where two should have been.   
  
His brother was nowhere to be seen.   
  
Farkas had yet to move, but his face said it all as his wide eyes stared towards the single Companion. His gaze however, was not on her, but well and truly past.   
  
The look of worry on his face broke Elriah’s heart, but there was more to worry about right now than his husband. 

A small trail of blood led from the door to the single wounded Companion. Tilma had beaten Elriah. Her old but deft hands were making quick work of the bandages as the old woman grimaced. It didn't take a healer to see the extent. Aela was covered in deep gashes and shredded bite wounds. But at least now she was safe in a chair, Skjor had pulled out for her, where she now slumped.   
  
Skjor’s questioning fell on deaf ears. The other Companions filled the remaining room, standing around watching with furrowed brows and worried faces.  
  
Tovar was the only one who seemed unaffected by the sight. The drunk took a single look at Aela before walking out the main door to search.   
  
The preference of his Siblings did not go unnoticed.  
  
“You won’t find Vilkas out there,” Aela spat as Tovar reached for the door’s handle. “He’s caught in the Silverhand’s snares with a damn war-dog.”  
  
“What do you mean my brother isn’t out there?” Farkas’ voice boomed. Aela looked away as he continued - unable to look at him or the drunk that continued his search “Where the hell is he then and why didn’t you bring him back?!”   
  
Elriah sympathized with his husband's worry, but murdering their fellow companion, verbally or otherwise, wouldn't get them anywhere. The Harbinger put a hand on Farkas’ shoulder, bringing him back from his growing rage. He was worried, deeply so, but yelling wouldn’t get those answers any faster.  
  
Silence fell upon the gathered Companions as they waited for Aela to speak. She didn't. She stared at the ground, her face brimming with anger. Even as Tilma tugged harshly at the bandages to still the bleeding, Aela made no move to even grunt in pain.   
  
Farkas’s shoulders dropped as his own anger melted into sorrow. 

“The Silverhand is back then, I take it,” Elriah signed mournfully. “And the snare you speak of was the supposed poachers”  
  
Alea nodded, confirming as her fellow Companions looked to each other with worry and bloodlust.  
  
Elriah shook his head. Peace had not lasted long.  
  
Silence fell yet again as Tilma continued to tend. For a brief moment the only sound heard was linen being pulled from a roll. Aela’s old bandages from the original camp fell nearby in a pile by Tilma’s feet, bloodied and torn from a hard fight. 

The rest of the Companions shared looks as they thought the worst. There was no other reason for Aela to have returned alone. Two of their strongest Companions...but only one left. Aela would never leave a brother behind, but two could only do so much against the savageness of the Silverhand.Ria already looked at the point of tears while Njada looked away angrily as her injured sister refused to speak.   
  
“…Is my…” Farkas finally spoke as his voice cracked. Ria began to bawl. “...Is my brother dead?”   
  
Aela yet shook her head, making Farkas’s face brighten slightly with hope. There was a sigh of relief and even hollers from the other Companions as they let out the breath they had been holding - though it brought Ria to tears even more in joy.   
  
However, they all fell quiet as Aela raised her hand.   
  
“I’ll only say this once,” she warned. “After this I want nothing to do with it, and I refuse to accept anything that happens due to it.”   
  
Elriah was left to agree with a single nod.   
  
“We rescued a werewolf from a Silverhands garrison that we came across on our mission.” As Aela began, the rest of the Companions found themselves silenced. Mostly in surprise. “He was badly off but we managed to treat him.We planned to bring him here like the rest - that is, _before_ I found out that the Silverhands use him to track down other werewolves like their own personal bloodhound.”   
  
No one dared to speak.   
  
“I questioned him, which led to his attack; though I’m sure even the dumbest of you lot already noticed that.” Aela motioned down at one of her legs stiffly. “I also came across a troll on the way here, so not all are from his blows. But that doesn't matter. Vilkas _refused_ to let me leave the traitor of a wolf behind after we subdued him, and well….” Her voice trailed off. “I may have been a bit too heavy handed with the bastard, but Vilkas left with him and I haven’t seen them since we passed by on the road.”  
  
Elriah stared at Aela before twisting his lips into a worried grimace that matched his husbands.

Farkas said nothing as he looked at Elriah, then back to Aela. Vilkas was known for just walking off but never with someone, let alone with strangers, and definitely not with anyone who had ties to the Silverhand.   
  
Elriah knew that Vilkas had felt guilty for hunting down most of the Silverhands during his rage from Kodlak’s death; but that didn’t mean he would just go and help one now because of it, werewolf or not. Especially not with a werewolf.   
  
“And he openly chose to go with this...silverhand dog, than with his shield sister,” Elriah spoke slowly. The sheer surprise of it left the sentence a statement rather than a question.   
  
“That he did, Harbinger. Without even looking _back_ .”   
  


Elriah looked to Aela’s wounds. The ones on her leg and side were lighter than the rest. They cut the skin in clean thin lines which had already begun to scab. However, the rest on her body were jagged, fresh, and deep. The werewolf truthfully hadn’t even harmed her enough to really leave any noticeable scars.   
  
Distrust filled Elriah’s gut as he went over her story again.   
  
Around him, Companions shared looks. Some shook their heads in disbelief, and others in disgust. Though not all towards Vilkas. No, Aela was winning her own fair share of doubtful glances.   
  
They had saved the werewolf, healed him, and then Aela had interrogated him - all before Vilkas left with the stranger. Something wasn’t _right_ .   
  
Elriah’s eyes squinted as he scowled; distrust and disapproval clear to see. He was a harbinger, but even he couldn't lead or control his own expressions. If Aela said she had been too harsh on the bastard she blatantly admitted she was and felt guilty. 

“Tilma,” Elriah finally spoke. “Once you're done tending to Aela please prepare some supplies. Athis, Farkas, and I will be leaving to investigate. Take tomorrow off too; you’ve done more than enough work patching us up constantly.”  
  
The rest of the Companions murmured as they noticed his disapproving stare that still held Aela captive. It took a long moment, but Elriah finally looked away and found Athis among the crowd. His darker sin and red eyes stood out against the surrounding nords. Those red eyes were already locked on his as Athis gave a nod of understanding.  
  
“Athis, if you could?” Elriah ventured before heading for the stairs. He gave Farkas a sad smile that was returned and a comforting light hand on his shoulder before Farkas turned to question Aela.   
  
Athis followed, and once they were behind closed doors Elriah quietly spoke his orders. “When we leave I need you to bring along the satchel, you know the one. I’ve stashed it away out of sight but you should be able to find it quickly enough, same place as always.” His plan or not, Elriah’s face twisted in uncomfortable acceptance. “If we are dealing with an injured werewolf we need to be prepared for anything.”  
  
“...You’re planning to do what you did to that one stray you called Sinding, aren’t you?” Athis didn't bother to look away, or show any real reaction to the news.  
  
“Yes Athis, I am. I don’t know how much of this Werewolf story is true, but I have no doubt that there was one _involved_ . Now go get it and be quick about it. I don’t want Farkas to see it or he will expect the worst.” Elriah frowned. “We may not have much time either.” 

Athis nodded, and left without another word. He respected his leader - killer or not. Though Elriah did well as harbinger it was no secret among the Companions that he had released many werewolves from Silverhands’s traps, various prison cells, or even their own insanity, by releasing them into the hunting grounds with swift poisons.  
  
Above in the main hall, another order was given wordlessly. 

Aela didn’t have to try to understand the look she had received from her harbinger. It was clear. She had pressured Elriah into fighting many times when he was new to the Companions, leaving him weary of her still. Even after all these years. Aela _knew_ he could read her, and that he knew there was more to what had happened than she dared to say. 

The other Companions offered kind words and well wishes before slowly drifting back to their rooms. They had all seen the look, and most were left uncertain. They retired for the night until only Farkas, Tilma, and Skjor were left.

Skjor stood close by, close enough for Aela to feel the concern and shame radiating from him. Soon there was no doubt about it. She had made a grave mistake. Aela could barely feel the sting of her wounds as the weight of the situation settled in.

Vilkas was missing, and was now alone with a cold blooded killer.


	15. F A N   A R T

  
(Art done by Wastelands-Knight on DA) I adore thiiiis <3 Husk looks so content with life next to this random pooch!

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(Art done by k1nd3r on Tumblr - warning their blog is NSFW.) Looks like someone has a ship! Wonder if it'll sail or sink in the upcoming chapters.

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(Art done by kree-katart on DA) A dear irl bud of mine who has helped support me and forced me to deal with writers block countless times <3

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(Art done by chac-ozai on Tumblr - warning their blog is NSFW) I cant say how much i love this one - its my wallpaper of my phone!

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(Art done by an account that was sadly deleted from DA and I've forgotten the artists name) Ugh I adore the way Husk is looking away! Everything about this is wonderful and perfect and dear lord i love it <3 

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(Made by an IRL bud of mine who knows where this story is going - but who is the bearded man with husk before his burns? I'll never tell mwhahahahaaha!)


	16. Frozen River Bath

Sharp stings tore their way through the darkened haze that clouded his mind. It cut through the fog that draped heavily over his body, preventing him from moving at all. Everything felt distant. Even the sounds were far away, echoing as they reached through the haze. As time passed, the strings turned into stabs, and grew stronger and more violently clear with every blow. Husk ebbed slowly into awareness, torn away from blessed unconsciousness.   
  
The werewolf refused to open his eyes as he fully, though slowly, awoke.   
  
He was lying on his stomach, Husk realized groggily. A small blessing, giving the sharp sensation that criss-crossed over his back. The fresh stitches were beginning to ache. He knew the feeling of stitches all too well and did not need to look to know they were there. His back burnt like the fires of Hircine’s wrath. 

Confusion filled his cloudy mind, replacing some of the fog as he realized he was no longer at the mill. It had been so comfortable there on the soft bedding surrounded by his newfound allies...however here, there was only so much between him and the cold hard ground.   
  
It was hard to think why they would have left such a safe haven.  
  
Pinpricks of pain dotted his skin, drawing his attention away. His very _pulse_ echoed in each gap where the needle had been pushed through his hide. Fiery silver coiled around his throat as the collar seared itself ever closer - digging deeper as if trying to hunt down his very pulse.   
  
Husk groaned. _Never_ would he get used to that.  
  
As the werewolf fought to try and remember what happened, foggy memories began to take shape. There was the cozy dusted mill house, then the road. Aela had been upset with him, he remembered, as his single brow drew down. After that, when they reached the new camp Vilkas had given him a bedroll. Then…. it had been just he and _Aela_ .  
  
Flashes of a campfire and blood howled though his mind - chased by distant growls and curses.  
  
Aela’s blade as well as his change took shape. The steel’s glint in the firelight - vivid as if she were wielding it even now. Husk’s confusion drained into sheer _terror_.  
  
Dread gripped him tighter than the silver on his throat.   
  
He had clawed and bit at Aela. Worse was the fact he hadn’t felt the _least_ bit guilty for it. She was going to hurt him and he had retaliated! ….But... Had she really gone to hurt him? He wondered bitterly - or was it an excuse he made just so he could _fight_ ? Either way, Aela was right. He _had_ enjoyed it. He _always_ enjoyed the hunt.   
  
The questions were loud enough to drown out the rest in his otherwise crowded mind.  
  
“Damn it all…”Husk murmured into the furs.  
  
After what the pair had done for him, he still spilt Aela’s blood. Husk’s heart ached as he recalled the other werewolf that had grabbed him. The taste of the black fur as it slipped through his muzzle as he tried to tear and maim. He had managed to attack both of the Nods who had tried to help him.   
  
The urge to kill as he had fought the Companions had grown so fast in the camp. Husk shuddered. He had soiled his only chance of freedom with the blood of his liberators.  
  
He’d even tried to tear out Vilkas’ _throat_ .  
  
Husk held back a sob before it could crawl up his dry throat. No tears. It had been his fault and his alone. There was no reason they should have tried to save him, but they had, and he had bit the hands that had only days ago undone his chains.  
  
With his eyes still closed Husk’s hands drifted. It was a poor attempt to distract himself from the growing guilt, but it was all he could think to do. Monster or not, this wasn't the cabin. Or their camp. It would be easier to look, but for now he was left feeling. The very pulse in his veins alone forced his eyes shut as pressure behind them grew.   
  
It was enough to make him wonder if opening them would leave him blind. Not from damage - but from the pressure firing them out of his skull like bloodied slingshots.   
  
Ignoring the image, Husk set to work. Callused hands brushed over the coarse furs cushioning him from the ground. The furs were actually a part of a bedroll. His suspicions confirmed such when his fingers brushed against the thick leather stitching holding them together. It smelt of Vilkas, as well as the mill they had spent the night at, and of his own blood.  
  
Vilkas had let him keep the gift.  
  
Husk couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. He didn’t deserve such lavish gifts, let alone to keep them after what he had done.  
  
A cold breeze nipped at his unsheltered hands as he continued the search. Rocky dirt lied at the edge of his bedroll. The bedding was a vast improvement from his dingy cell, helping him feel somewhat safer as he continued to investigate. At least it kept him warmer than his hands certainly were.   
  
Husk was certain that he was alone as his hands wandered.  
  
His lungs and nose burned as he took a deep breath, hoping for any sign of a scent to tell him where he was. He sighed out in defeat. Nothing could be smelt over his own blood and the leathers below him. Hints of Vilkas and Aela that still clung to the bedroll, though any other smells were muddled as his clouded mind tried to make sense of them.  
  
His hearing however was fine. Wherever he was, it was in the middle of a forest. Quiet nature surrounded him giving comfort as the occasional sounds of distant birds and bugs sung.  
  
Though comforting, nature did little to ease the worries from his mind. There was no way to tell where he was or if he was safe. Husk wasn;t dumb; he knew full well that his injuries would lead to his death now that he was unprotected. If the wounds themselves didn’t kill him a predator surely would. 

He had been left behind. There was no reason to think or hope otherwise.

Husk could only hope that death would not take its time, and end him before the bears or sabers could. At least now he would pass on surrounded by nature, instead of drunken Silverhands, graced by the freedom that had been given to him so willingly. 

“Come now Husk, I know you’re awake,” A voice grumbled tiredly. “Join the word of the living.”  
  
Husk stiffened in surprise as the sudden sound froze his hands in place. For a brief moment he actually thought it was the voice of Hircine - calling him home to hunt.  
  
“Aela won’t hurt you now,” the familiar voice continued, finishing off on a bitter growl. “She‘s already returned to Jorrvaskr no doubt.”   
  
Husk finally mustered the courage to open a single eye. Vilkas smiled down at him sadly, watching carefully as if deciding what to do. It didn’t take long for him to decide it seemed, as he soon reached out a war scarred hand. Husk flinched as it came closer. Where he had expected pain he instead felt the gentle ruffling of his hair.  
  
It was an unbearably kind gesture.  
  
Why wasn’t Vilkas acting mad, Husk wondered? Confusion took the place of any worry. Husk glanced away from the Companion to look around. They were inside of a tent. Husk finally took note of the nearby fire. He could feel the warmth of it somewhat; though his hands remained oddly cold.  
  
It appeared to be the middle of the night, or at least early morning. Crickets sounded off nearby along with the croaking of frogs.   
  
Vilkas’s bright blue eyes were saddened as they watched him. Perhaps even pity. Husk’s eyes in return searched for an answer to the unspoken question, but Vilkas understood. “Aela told me what you said.... Perhaps more than should have been repeated,” Vilkas admitted quietly.

Husk cringed, certain that he would be loathed at best.  
  
Vilkas said nothing for a moment, leaning back against the tent's support. His eyes were heavy with lack of sleep.   
  
Husk would not blame the Nord if he suddenly exploded on him with angry fists. There was no hiding the questions Vilkas seemed ready to ask. He would open his mouth as if to speak, then change his mind and close them just as quick.   
  
It went on long enough for Husk’s eye to fall closed.  
  
“…So how do you feel?” Vilkas ventured carefully. As if a single wrong word would cause a beast to appear from thin air.  
  
Husk shrank deeper into the bedding instinctively, fully expecting for the Nord to give way to the anger that had to be building up. Vilkas was being far too calm and _far_ too nice. He would have almost preferred to see him mad.  
  
“Hurts a bit to be honest,” Husk finally replied, his voice quiet as the Companion continued to watch him with the same false worried look. It would be any moment now Husk feared. There would be severe punishment for his actions, and Husk wouldn’t blame him at all. “But it’s tolerable.”   
  
Instead of lashing out, Vilkas instead shifted closer. He cleared his throat. “Aela has always been... _protective_ . To a fault, at times.” The warrior was careful as he chose his words. His eyes remained lowered. “I am sorry for leaving you alone with her. I should have known better, and I hope I can re-earn your trust.”  
  
Husk stared at Vilkas in confusion while he nodded, accepting the apology. He did not blame Vilkas for what had happened, but it seemed to do the man some good to be forgiven anyways. Vilkas’s eyes lit up briefly at the acceptance, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked as relieved as Husk felt from not being alone.  
  
However, it did not last long. Blue eyes returned to worry as Vilkas caught sight of Husk staring quite bluntly at his chest. Husk’ burnt lips turned into a grimace as he stared at Vilkas’s torso, bare and tightly bound. Thick linen wrapped itself around his muscular form. Small traces of blood could be seen, outlining the slash from large claws.  
  
“You’re hurt.” Husk’s quiet voice broke under the renewed guilt he felt.  
  
Vilkas gave a small sarcastic huff, glancing down at the bandages almost amused. “Aye, I’ve had worse.”  
  
Husk’s face fell as he stared at the wound. He had injured the Companion. It was his fault he was hurt, it had been his claws that had torn his skin. Husk rushed to apologize as his voice wavered. “Companion I-”  
  
Vilkas held up his hand. Husk’s words died in his throat. “ _Don’t_ . You were only defending yourself. There is nothing to forgive, you did nothing wrong.” His voice had started sternly, though slowly fell gentle. “You handled yourself well given your condition. Not many can say they went up against Aela and survived.” 

Vilkas sighed however as he finished talking. The guilt that haunted Husk;s heart seemed to find a home on the Companion’s face. It was as if he did not agree with the words he just had spoken so softly. Vilkas dragged a hand through his own hair. “Though…” Confliction played clearly on his features as he licked his lips. Yet again he shifted, as if looking for a more comfortable position.   
  
Vilkas eventually closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighing as the question was finally voiced. “Is it true, Husk?”  
  
Husk stayed quiet as the Companion gazed down at him. Not only did the man frown, but betrayal lurked right underneath the warriors hardened features.  
  
“Aela, was she right, did you hunt your own kind like this? Did you work for the Silverhand?”

His voice had sounded betrayed as well, he sounded like a broken man. One who had chosen a killer over his own sister. The betrayal wasn’t fully meant for him, but to himself and his sister. It was clear he hoped he had made the right choice and wanted to hear Husk say no.  
  
There would be no words to explain what Aela already had. There was no argument to give.   
  
Husk nodded solemnly.   
  
He could hear as the breath caught in Vilkas’s throat. “Oh,” he swallowed, “…I see.” Vilkas closed his eyes as he breathed in deeply.

  
The tent fell quiet.  
  
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Husk grumbled with a rare streak of stubbornness. “You should have let us finish the fight.”

  
Vilkas scowled in response, unamused. “If I hadn’t stepped in you’d already be rotting.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Vilkas stared in disbelief. For a brief moment the warrior’s calm facade was broken. His mouth opened as if to say something, though nothing came forward. His surprise was quickly replaced with anger. “We’ve come too damn far to kill you off now. You should have told us this back at camp! Aela wouldn’t have had to go so far if you had just said something!”  
  
Husk lifted his head as much as he could. His body felt a league away, and far too heavy. “She wouldn’t have? Good to know!” Husk snapped. “Would you still have helped me, had you known? Because she certainly didn't. She knew all that she wanted to when she started calling me their dog! Husk’s voice broke and shook as his eyes welled up in anger. “I didn’t want to stay, and I sure wasn’t going to let her tell me otherwise.”   
  
Husk gave up with an exhausted huff as he looked away. The entire time he’d locked eyes, challenging the fellow Companion. “This is no threat,” Husk spoke slowly. “But don’t you _dare_ lie and tell me you wouldn’t have killed me _yourself_.” 

Vilkas' anger quelled as Husk’s words took hold. There was no doubt he would have slit Husk’s throat himself back in the cells if he had known what he'd done - forced or not. But he wouldnt dare admit it. The companion frowned. He had not heard of Aela’s taunting. Even with Husk’s clear history, Vilkas found himself realizing just what had truly sparked the campsite battle. “Aela accused you of wanting all that?”  
  
“If she didn’t I wouldn’t have turned,” the werewolf admitted matter-of-factly. “And after all that she came at me sword drawn.” Husk’s voice became hard as he glared at Vilkas. “What did you expect me to do, Companion? _Lie down and beg?_ ”  
  
Vilkas said nothing. His sister had indeed called it an interrogation but nothing was said about accusations. She had pulled her sword, that much he knew, but he was sure it had been after Husk had changed from fear. He rolled his eyes heavily at the last bit. Any other day he would have found this spirited version of Husk entertaining - but now it was getting on his already raw nerves.  
  
“I was unaware of this. This may be hard to believe, but I was told you had attacked unprovoked.” Vilkas listened as Husk huffed bitterly. “....I would have done the same had I been you.”  
  
Husk’s rage fell away all but instantly and vanished from his features. The hard lines of his forehead relaxing. The snarl on his lips did the same. Husk quickly turned his face down as embarrassment and anger. At least it was no longer directed at his savior.  
  
Vilkas grunted as his wound began to ache.  
  
Husk’s eyes drifted back to him and watched as Vilks applied pressure to the wound. “I am sorry that I attacked you, and for assuming,” Husk murmured quietly.  
  
Vilkas shook his head. “There is no need to apologize.”  
  
The younger werewolf sat up anyways. He had already said and done so much to the Companion, an apology was only fitting. However, Husk blinked as he realized he was no longer moving - and was stuck halfway. Vilkas had reached out quickly to grab his shoulders.  
  
“Stay down!” Vilkas ordered with a snap.  
  
Had Vilkas not pushed Husk back into the furs, he would have laid down again anyways. Without warning a sudden overwhelming pain struck him, leaving him faint as his sight turned dark.  
  
It was as if an explosion had gone off in his head. Stars took over his vision as his eyes screwed shut in an attempt to block out the horrendous pain. He gritted his teeth as he buried his face into the pelts and groaned.  
  
Husk wondered briefly if Vilkas had struck him. His burnt hands held tightly to the edges of his bedroll, slowly turning his bruised knuckles white.  
  
It did not go unnoticed by Vilkas as he sat back unable to help, only able to watch the werewolf endured the effects from the wounds.  
  
Husk could feel the fur poking into a gash on his face. The worst pain came from his head. The fur brushed against his burn and his tightly shut eyelids. It itched horribly. Husk focused on breathing deeply as his thoughts jumbled together and merged into a large blur, hoping to clear his mind that was becoming foggy. Sweat dotted his brow as he continued to fight to restrain from yelling in pain. It began to hit him in harsh waves; one bout of pain after another. His head hurt as badly as his back as a horrid taste filled his mouth. Husk could taste his own blood as a bit of bile scorched it's way into his throat. 

The waves lasted for many moments, though soon enough the pain turned into throbbing that slowly began to subside. A blessedly dull ache. Finally able to move again, Husk moved his head so that it rested as comfortably as it could manage on its side. The burn faced the air.  
  
Vilkas watched as the werewolf shivered from exhaustion before Husk finally opened his eyes. Sickly red now took the place of the previous white, and as he watched they begin to glaze over.  
  
Cautiously Vilkas stretched his hand out to brush back Husk's hair away from the burn. He had hoped it would help comfort Husk as he gently placed his fingers under the hair. His gesture was met with moisture and strong heat. Husk began to sweat profusely under his hand, scaring Vilkas greatly as his frown deepened. The lad was already dehydrated enough from blood loss; losing more would spell certain death - as did the fever.  
  
Husk croaked out an apology from behind clenched teeth as he closed his eyes again.  
  
“Stubborn fool,” Vilkas hissed as Husk apologized again anyways even through pain. Vilkas brushed the hair away gently before reassuring the lad. “It’s not your fault, just stick in there as best you can. There’s not much distance left between us and Jorrvaskr; there’s bound to be a healer there that can help you.” Husk tried to give a small smile as Vilkas began to joke. “We can’t have you dying before we get there now can we? No, remember we’ve got to try and get you into the Companions!”  
  
The kind words had been more for himself than for the lad as his worry grew.  
  
The only healer Vilkas knew was capable of treating a werewolf, let alone such horrible damage, was Elriah. The Companion cursed under his breath. There were many miles between them and the Harbinger, too many, and as Vilkas began to worry further he realized that even if he could get to the nearest town there was little chance that Husk would survive the trip there.  
  
The small half-elf eventually fell into a light slumber as sweat continued to form on his brow. There was little Vilkas could do for Husk now. He wasn’t an expert on healing - he had barely got by with the stitches for Devines sake! Vilkas stood quietly, snatching the nearest rag he could find from the bandit’s supplies before heading to the river.   
  
He may be useless as a healer, but even _he_ knew to try to keep Husk cool.  
  
Carefully Vilkas walked out into the shallows; sending ripples out into the water. The ground underneath his boots was more silt like than sand. It was harder that he expected to anchor himself in one place instead of sliding about, even with the help of his heavy armored boots.   
  
He soaked the rag into the freezing water, shaking it to dislodge any dirt or grime. The chill crept through the metal and into his bones. Nord’s almost never got cold, but as the river swirled about him a memory surfaced in his mind, one that he and his brother had just spoken of not long ago. It brought another grim look to his face as he recalled the fear of seeing his brother sick and lifeless in the healers care. 

Farkas and himself had only been twelve at the time of the incident. Too new to have received the blood. They had been on a mission with Skjor - the closest thing they’d had to a father. He still was, in an odd way, but now they were equals. Brothers in the blood.

It had been a small task but they were happy to take it. The job was simple: Clear out a group of Rats from a basement in the Rift that had taken over. There had only been a handful of the rodents to take care of. During the fight though Farkas had backed up too far and been cut by a rusty nail that was sticking out from the wall. It had been a small shallow gash. The group had thought nothing of it, not even bothering to bandage it up before camping for the night.  
  
They had camped by a small lake behind Riften. Skjor loathed the nearby town, and as an adult, Vilkas could finally understand why.  
  
Sometime during the night Vilkas had woken up to find Farkas burning with a high fever. Vilkas had cursed loudly at the discovery, waking Skjor as well. There had been no potions with them so Skjor did the next best thing he could. He had grabbed up Farkas and took him out into the middle of the lake.  
  
Vilkas smiled as he remembered worrying that Skjor was going to drown his brother. He’d even tried to stop him. Skjor had held Farkas under the water as long as he could, while leaving only his nose above the line. He stayed that way for an hour as Vilkas was left on shore.   
  
He shook his head at the memory as he rung out the cloth. 

They had ended up taking Farkas to the closest healer they could. The healer had said that he most likely had died if not for the cold water. It still took a week until Farkas was able to travel again, let alone move or speak, but they eventually got home by the next month’s end.  
  
Vilkas stopped washing the rag as he went over the memory again. After a quick glance at the river he decided with certainty that it was deep enough to submerge Husk - without the difficulty of having to kneel into the water. As long as he could manage to find another foothold in the silt, that was. The rag was hastily abandoned on the shore as Vilkas hurried back to the tent.  
  
Husk had neither moved, nor had the sweating gotten worse much to Vilkas’s relief. His charge was still resting, though seemed breakable and pale against the brown furs. His hair draped over the bedroll in long matted strawberry streaks. The braid had been undone during his transformation, Vilkas noted, though there was more to worry about now than a simple braid.  
  
Vilkas knelt next to the lad. Easily he lifted husk, who did not struggle in the least as Vilkas’s arms reached under him. He slipped an arm under Husk’s legs before using his other hand to wrap around the lower back.  
  
Husk groaned. The pain had grown from being jostled. The trembling started again.   
  
“Alright Husk, I’m going to do something that won’t be pleasant, but it should help.” Vilkas warned. “I’m going to need you to trust me and not move, alright?”  
  
Husk gave Vilkas a weak smile through squinted eyes. “Alright Companion,” he muttered tiredly; the smallest hint of another hiss of pain trailing at the end.   
  
Vilkas said nothing as he lifted up the Halfling. 

The movement made pain shoot through his wounds, causing him to stiffen. Vilkas grumbled apologetically. It made no difference. As he was raised, Husk gave another small sound of pain. The world spun around him. The werewolf gave up as the last of his strength left - leaving his head to rest limply on the other man's shoulder. It was embarrassing being held, let alone like a bride, but there was nothing he could do. He huffed.

Vilkas stayed quiet as he felt Husk’s head rest next to his own. Stealing a glance down he gave Husk an understanding nod. The lad had been through enough without the Companion making a joke about being carried like a damsel. Husk gave an apologetic smile, and as he did Vilkas noted that there was no trace of anything feral, even though the injuries left him helpless.  
  
But more importantly, he still had Husks trust.  
  
Vilkas was careful on his walk to the shore and did his best to ignore any of the small sounds Husk made. He took his time to carefully step over the rocks and brambles that he'd not paid attention to the first time. The rocky sand on the shore finally cushioned his steps as he eventually reached the bank. Vilkas carefully adjusted Husk in his arms. He stopped on the edge of the waterway; making sure the grip was careful, but also tight enough he would not drop his charge into the water to drown.   
  
Husk looked at the water nervously as Vilkas began to step into the river.  
  
“I won’t drop you just as long as you don’t move. It's not going to be pleasant, like I said, but it should help.” Vilkas spoke calmly as he walked out deeper into the water until it was up to his waist.

He was already shivering himself and did not envy the lad he was about to submerge. The water rushed around his armor as it weighed him down against the current. For a moment he slid, but soon yet again managed to hold his ground. He chuckled tiredly at Husk’s gasp - and was rewarded with a small growl.  
  
The Companion only raised a brow, but found himself smiling despite the cold.  
  
Without warning, he finally started to ease Husk into the water. Husk gave a small gasp followed by a grimace from the sudden change - but he didn't jump or try to escape.   
  
Vilkas was almost impressed.  
  
Small traces of blood spilled into the river like ribbons before disappearing downstream.  
  
Vilkas gave a grunt as he lowered Husk further until just his face was showing above the water. Husk’s mouth opened in surprise, but was quickly shut before water could get in. He closed his eyes as he tried to remain still, clearly in pain - and slight panic.   
  
Vilkas could hear the poor bastard's heart, even though the water.  
  
Finally free of the dirt that floated away, Husk’s hair finally rose to the surface, letting Vilkas get a good look at the young Halfling’s face. Two tiny knicks rested on one of his ears, and as he looked closer he noticed the slightest point to the tips. Husk was a half elf. Vilkas hummed, wondering if that was why the fellow man was so damned small.   
  
He decided to ask later as he returned to his search. Under the same nicked ear was a scar, normally been hidden by his hair. The scar dipped down onto the neck in a clean thin line.   
  
He supposed that the lad was decent enough to look at - except for now in his frail state. Once he was healed and had some weight on his bones he was certain to look like a decent warrior. Due to his Halfling blood though he would most likely be a bit tiny for Nod standards; but Whiterun could handle that well enough. The only thing that held back his chances of the town’s acceptance was the burn on his face. Though, Vilkas supposed it did show the poor bastard was a fighter. Hell, Nords were sure to buy Husk a drink, just for the chance to drag out the story behind such a fearsome mark. 

Time passed while the water swelled around them. Husk did not have much energy to talk, though the look on his face said enough as he eventually relaxed. The water left everything numb. The sound of the river was the only thing heard above their breathing or their chattering teeth.

Vilkas attempted to make small talk to break the silence, if possible at all, as well as to make sure Husk was still conscious. “I guess this counts as a bath, and by the Divines you needed one!”

It was true. Days worth of dust left Husk’s skin. Even the blood finally came undone from his hair. Husk only hummed in response as he enjoyed the numbness. A child-like smile rested on his face, happy and content. It was a big change from the mood in the bandit’s tent - one that Vilkas was more than happy to see.  
  
It made Vilkas smile, even managing to make him no longer care that his arms were beginning to grow as numb as the half-elf. It was a reward in itself. “When was the last time you washed? And no, wiping yourself down with a rag doesn't count.” He shushed Husk’s look of offence with a single look. “I mean a _real_ bath. Surely the Silverhand at least let you do _that_ .”  
  
Husk’s eyes fell closed. His pleasant smile faded. “About a month… Usually i’d get a bucket and a rag, but the last caretaker stopped bothering at all.” He finished with a whimsical sigh as the water caressed his scalp, clearing it of oil and grime. If Vilkas didn’t know better he would have guessed it was Husk’s way of changing the subject. Husk flicked his head lightly to send his hair swirling.   
  
“Caretaker?” Vilkas asked cautiously. “What do you mean by Caretaker?”  
  
Husk brought his hand up out of the water and used it to wash off his burn. “Whoever would be tasked with caring for us.” His smile faltered. “...Last one was a Dark elf. Wasn’t exactly friendly. He got picked ‘cause he knew how to handle us. He killed three werewolves that month alone, so they thought he’d be the best for the job.”  
  
Vilkas grunted in reply for him to continue.  
  
“The Caretaker would make sure no one died in their cages, throw us some random bandit corpse to eat, and make sure none of us thought about escaping.” Husk swallowed back the hatred that was beginning to rise in his voice. “He refused to let any of us out unless it was to kill something, Silverhands traitors, villagers, more bandits, anyone they wanted dealt with. You couldn’t not listen to him either ‘cause when he told you to move you moved, when he’d call you’d follow, listen or end up with Silver stuck in your gullet.”   
  
“...Did you say they gave you corpses to _eat_ ?” Vilkas shuddered. “Surely you didn't…” He trailed off as Husk returned the earlier look from being asked when he bathed. Vilkas decided he didn't want to know after all. Sadly enough, he didn't get a chance to anyways as Husk’s stubbornness melted away into heartbreak. 

Realization hit Husk hard as memories from those days played across his face. Vilkas felt an instant sense of unease as Husk fell silent. He was staring up at the sky with empty eyes. “…Aela was right about me being their hound.” His face gave way to humiliation as his hand fell back into the water with a plop. Husk’s eyes fell as well, shame mixed with disgust clear to see. “They treated us like dogs, and now I'm free but trailing after new masters.” He huffed bitterly - refusing to look towards the Companion.   
  
“ _Good hound_ ,” he spat quietly. It was mostly to himself, but Vilkas had heard it nonetheless.  
  
Vilkas had hoped Aela’s words had not sunk into Husk’s mind. But like everything else on this journey, he’d been wrong.   
  
Husk’s eyes were far away now, lost in memories.  
  
Without a word Vilkas quickly dunked Husk fully under the water before bringing him up just as fast. He couldn’t let Husk recede back into the mute they found him as. Husk gasped with his eyes fully open as he stared at Vilkas in astonishment.   
  
Vilkas scowled at the lad, but it quickly turned into a lighthearted grin. “If you can criticize yourself you must be feeling better. Now, let’s get out of here and back in front of a warm fire, aye?”  
  
With that Vilkas carried him back to the bank and eventually the tent after he remembered how to move his numbed legs. A tickle began in his chest, but he did not mind, he was just relieved to see the Halfling finally acting like a person. Even if he had only talked about some Elven bastard Husk had still shown anger and his fighting spirit at someone other than Aela.  
  
“‘Aela wasn’t right,” Vilkas finally spoke as he helped Husk return to his bedroll. “You are a _wolf_ not a common hound. With a fire like yours you need no masters - only allies.”   
  
Husk smiled softly as his eyes crinkled in amusement. “And are you one of these allies, oh Companion?”  
  
Vilkas could only grin as he found himself shaking Husk’s hand. “Aye. That I am.”   
  
“I believe I can live with that just fine then.”   
  
“Aye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After going back and editing/rewriting from the original, I decided to let Husk show a bit more of his backbone - and for once not literally. He's a fighter at heart after all. 
> 
> Thank you for so many kudos's and views so far! It's great to see people enjoying the rewrite. After all the original version is at least five years old now, probably more though. It was time for Husk and the Companions to be dusted off and written as they deserved to be.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading this far!


	17. Restless Rattled Sleep

Vilkas had helped Husk into his bedroll before starting a new fire. A small stack of twigs and branches laid next to him as he began to feed the growing blaze. The Companion had been careful to not make much noise, as to not wake up his charge; but eventually realized the noise wouldn’t matter. Husk was sleeping soundly as if nothing had happened. He envied the bastard who was able to sleep so well with not only with his injuries, but with the beast blood that dwelled in his veins.  
  
As much as he hated the idea of being a beast, Vilkas already had questions in his mind. He’d always been a scholar at heart...perhaps Husk could help him study what full-bloods were like. Maybe it could help others who shared the curse. 

Vilkas found himself looking back at the sleeping lad. The last few days had been unexpected to say the least, and now he shared camp with an ex-Silverhand Werewolf. He didn’t regret saving Husk as he began to know him, but guilt still bothers him whenever he thought of Aela. The entire situation could have been handled better. Had he not jumped on her actions, or just let her walk by on the trail, things may have ended differently.

Then again had she not interrogated Husk there wouldn’t have been a problem to begin with. It had been her idea after all to take Husk to Jorrvaskr and to Elriah - but he was the one who decided to spare Husk. He could always blame it on her should she bring it up again. Though... could he really blame her for her actions when she realized what Husk had done? Vilkas begrudgingly sighed. He would have done the same if in her place. Husk would not have left the camp alive. Aela would have agreed to it, and then they would have been on their way.  
  
Vilks frowned. It didn't matter now. He’d taken Husk’s side and he wasn't about to regret it. 

Once Vilkas was content with his fire he began to shift through the supplies that were strewn in crates about camp, left by the now deceased bandits. Waterlogged bandits. Vilkas couldn't help but grin. They’d had an easy fight. The only helpful thing they’d ever done in their miserable lives was to set a camp for him to take. Vilkas had to admit they were crafty, however as he realized that most of the crates were full of stolen goods.  
  
One such crate held an assortment of scavenged Stormcloak armor. Blood still present on the metal. A few canteens of water were found as well as bottles of Honningbrew Mead, Skooma, and the occasional wooden tableware. There was even jewelry - and a magical staff that Vilkas chucked into the river without even bothering to look back.  
  
Magic was the last thing he wanted to deal with. 

Vilkas sighed as he stood - but regretted it quickly. It smelt horrible near the boxes. He’d clearly disturbed something, and it was working on disturbing his stomach right back. He stopped to look in the neighboring crates. The smell was almost too much to bear, but he pressed on. The fact that it could attract the noses of hungry or curious predators gave reason to find and dispose of the source. Let alone to give himself some relief.  
  
He looked back to the tent. Husk didn't even seem to notice. “Lucky bastard...” 

Vilks lifted another lid as the smell became stronger. The mystery had ended. Flies flew out of the crate of what looked to be rotten fish and scraps of food. Vilkas did his best to block out the stench as he grabbed the sides of the box. He threw the entire thing into the river with a huff and let it wash away.  
  
The camp’s smell instantly improved. 

Pleased with half of his search finished, he continued his hunt. The bandits had been decently supplied, and it was common sense to say they’d squirreled away a potion or two. Even the dumbest falmer kept potions, amazingly. Vilkas hummed. Maybe the blind idiots were sharper than the highwaymen had been. It wouldn't surprise him.  
  
Finally after minutes worth of searching he pulled out a small red potion. Relief washed away his previous worry as he quickly tucked it under his arm and looked for more. One after another more potions turned up among the other junk and emptied bottles. Soon five of them were under his arm as the search finished.  
  
He hoped it would be enough. 

Vilkas carried them to the tent and sat down next to Husk’s bedroll. He lined up the potions next to himself, making sure they would be easily in reach. But now...now came the fun part. Vilkas didn't want to disturb the sleeping half elf, but Husk needed to get better. Peacefulness be damned.   
  
With a single soft shake of the shoulder, Husk’s eyes snapped open. Husk looked up at Vilkas as he awoke, eyes red and inflamed. The soak in the river had only done so much to relive the fever, but it had returned, though thankfully lower. Husk blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. Once he realized that it had only been Vilkas, he relaxed with a disgruntled huff.  
  
Vilkas lightly ruffled his wet tangled hair in greeting before helping him sit up, careful to mind the stitched wounds. Husk was stiff, making small noises of complaint as his body ached. Vilkas managed to get Husk into a sitting position- though it quickly became apparent that Husk wouldn’t be able to stay like that for long. He already was swaying slightly and his eyes were falling shut.  
  
The companion sighed. With a single raise of his arm, Vilkas offered his side. Husk eyed him, clearly confused as to why the Nord was beckoning him closer.  
  
“You’ll need some help if we want to get another potion in you,” Vilas explained. He was less than thrilled to have someone so sick held against him, but if that's what it took, then so be it.  
  
At the mere mention of a healing potion Husk lit up, though still didn't move any closer. It took some coaxing but once Husk was using Vilkas as support he was handed one of the potions. The rest stayed nearby, but had been decidedly left. It would do good to pace things out, in case Husk worsened.  
  
Vilkas ignored how the small body fit well to his side. He could only hope the fever wouldn't jump to him next. It was one thing for Husk to be sick - but another for the only one who could hold a sword to be down as well.  
  
Husk gave Vilkas a small smile in thanks before trying to pop the cork. His scarred hands held it tightly as he pulled at the stopper. His fingernails had stayed gone after the transformation; making it even harder to uncork the flask.  
  
Vilkas didn't even want to know how tender they were - or how he’d lost them.  
  
He said nothing as determination took over the burned face beside him. He didn’t expect Husk to manage to open it, but at the same time he didn’t want to take the chance away just yet. It was actually amusing. Husk continued to pull and pry... yet nothing seemed to change.  
  
Vilkas finally gave in to pity. After another failed attempt to open the bottle, Vilkas took it back gently and did it for him. A guilty look spread onto Husk’s face as he took it back.  
  
Vilkas shrugged it off. “Don’t worry about it. Just drink up.” And that he did. Vilkas gave a laugh as Husk’s face contorted into a look of disgust. He even gagged. Vilkas couldn't help but grin and watch as Husk all but forced himself to finally down the damned thing in one go.  
  
Vilkas whistled in surprise...only to chuckle again as Husk bitterly handed, if not _shoved_ , the bottle back into Vilkas’ hand.  
  
With that, Husk carefully edged himself back down into the bedroll, without help from Vilkas. Vilkas was sure he wouldn’t have accepted the help anyways. Between being carried and needing Vilkas to lean on, it was apparent Husk’s ego had taken a few hits. He needed to continue to take care of himself when he could.  
  
It was comendable - and downright stupid. The Companion shook his head as the half-elf tried his best to be independent. Vilkas eventually gave in and pulled the fur cover lightly over Husk's shoulders, though no protest was given. It would be stupid to let him catch his death from a chill.  
  
Husk sighed as he began to feel the healing effect spread throughout his worn body. He already fought sleep, waiting for the pain to lose its edge.  
  
Just like Farkas did when ill, Vilkas noticed with a smile. 

On impulse Vilkas began to ruffle Husk’s hair in gentle swirls, massaging the scalp. It had worked with his brother. Clearly it did so with other werewolves as well. The action brought a happy mumble from Husk, whose eyes slowly fell shut. He didn’t seem to mind at all, and to Vilkas’ amusement, he even moved into the touch. Vilkas continued gently until he felt Husk give into the potion. Just as quickly as he had woken up Husk was back asleep now snug in the furs and warmed by the fires glow.

Once Vilkas was certain his charge was sleeping he quietly got up to stretch. He paid no attention to what he had just done inside the tent; instead he glanced around the camp in search. His eyes finally landed on a bunched up pile of fur. Off a ways was a small bedroll that had once belonged to a bandit, now lumped and tossed aside by the fight that had taken place. Vilkas picked it up and shook it, sending dirt into the air. Sadly it smelt of the drunken bandit that had slept in it, but Vilkas had no other choice. It was clean enough of any mysterious stains…. except for the slightest traces of blood from the fight.  
  
That was enough for him. 

Still moving quietly, he returned to the tent and laid his bedroll next to Husk’s. He undid his armor, and changed into his traveling tunic. However he remained careful. His armor was laid next to his side, ready to be put back in a moment’s notice. Even his sword stayed in grasping distance. Vilkas made himself as comfortable as he could on the thin bedroll and desperately hoped that his beast blood would allow him rest. 

  
\---  
  
  
For once it did...but as a few hours ticked by, something else stole away the Companions precious sleep. 

Vilkas awoke as he felt a hand slap him hard across the face. He leapt up from his bedding in surprise. His hand instantly found the hilt of his sword. The assailant was nowhere to be seen as he eyed the tent’s room; instead his eyes landed on Husk shaking wildly.  
  
It took him a moment to recognize what was happening. 

Quickly he tried to hold Husk’s arms still as the rest of him thrashed. Husk’s eyes were rolled up into the back of his head and his mouth was shut so tightly that Vilkas worried for his teeth. The fur that had been covering him was now twisted around his legs in a mess.

Vilkas had no choice but to sit and pick him up; holding him close to his body as he pulled Husk onto his lap. One arm held his legs pressed together while the other held his torso and arms. It was similar to how he had held him in the stream, but this time there was no way to make Husk be still. He had to be still. Vilkas brought his own knees up to help put pressure on the shaking lad. He had done it once for Kodlak when he had collapsed - though there was no Elriah now to help him hold down the shaking man. The wounds from Kodlak’s thrashing alone proved just how bad the seizures could be.  
  
And now it looked like Husk was having one of his own. 

The healing potions were scattered about the tent from the thrashing, but as luck would have it, one vial managed to roll into reach. Vilkas wasn’t sure if it would help the seizure, but it was the best, if not only chance he had. He let go of Husk's arms long enough to grab the potion.

Quickly he opened it and did his best to pour it down the werewolf’s throat. Though some missed, sizzling onto the collar as it had in the cell, some of the liquid managed to make it. The bottle was tossed aside and his arm went back to holding Husk’s arms.  
  
Husk began to whimper and gurgle as he shook, his eyes remaining rolled.  
  
Seizures were never a good thing. They either meant you were far too sick, or that you had received one too many blows to the head from what Vilkas could remember. Kodlak had had them often near the end. He had almost choked on his own saliva at one time during an episode. 

Carefully on that note, Vilkas propped Husk’s head up against his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t choke as Kodlak had.  
  
“Shh,” Vilkas mumbled, unsure of what else to say. The shaking continued as he held him. “Get a hold on yourself Husk!” 

Gurgling eventually gave way to barely audible words as Husk began to mumble, his mind lost in a terror and sickness. His head trashed from side to side as if trying to stop whatever he was seeing. Vilkas was forced to put Husk’s head under his own as he pressed his chin down - trapping the poor bastard's head. But that didn't stop the words. Husk began to say names that were quickly run over by words that spoke of promises to behave. Vilkas could only listen as he held the convulsing form. Husk began to babble about a search party, mumbling warnings to run. Vilkas tightened his grip on the half-elf and looked down at him.  
  
Soon Husk’ words returned to gibberish. 

Vilkas didn’t know what to think as he held Husk. The potion had done nothing. It was bad enough that Vilkas actually hoped that Husk’s heat would give out, and that the poor bastard would die then and there. He would bury him nearby before returning alone to Jorrvaskr. But dying now would be better than shaking like this.

It felt like an hour had already passed by the time the convulsing slowed, leaving Husk shivering and covered in sweat. In reality it had only been a minute or so at most. But... they were the longest minutes Vilkas had ever felt.  
  
Vilkas held his breath as he felt for a pulse. 

Husk’s arms and legs still twitched sporadically. Vilkas’s shirt was drenched in sweat now but he didn’t care. Husk was alive. He sighed, unsure whether to feel disappointment, or relief.  
  
Husk's eyes closed as Vilkas began to lightly brush the lad’s hair back into place comfortingly. The nonsense continued to spill from Husk’s lips, but it was gradually getting slower. He was about to try and get husk back into his bedroll but was stopped as a hand tightened loosely around his arm. 

“It’s alright Husk, you’re safe, just relax and let ole Vilkas get you back to bed.”  
  
Husk’s blood reddened eyes opened, though could not seem to focus as even his eyes trembled. He stared on confused and tired but let go of the shirt as he let himself be lowered back into the bedding.  
  
“…cud’nt warn ‘em...” Husk’s voice cracked as he took a small strained breath. “I dn’t want’a die too.”  
  
Vilkas shuddered at how young and pained that voice had sounded as it uttered such miserable words. He shushed the lad and tucked him in again, this time tighter into the fur sheet to help restrain any more sudden movements. He had no idea what to say back to the sick person before him. Vilkas knew quite well that Husk could die that very night; there wasn’t the option to just say nothing. For all he knew those would be the last words Husk could ever hear.  
  
“Aye Husk, I know,” he whispered. His hand drew through his hair as he sought to comfort the possibly dying man. “But those days are behind you now...just try and sleep. You’ll be safe here”  
  
Husk’s eyes closed. He coughed up some bile as his body tried to relax. The exhaustion from the convulsing slipped him away into very light unconsciousness.  
  
The Companion waited next to his charge as he watched the young face soften. He still twitched under the furs, yet nowhere near as badly as before. Vilkas didn’t bother to collect the scattered potions. He moved his bedroll closer to Husk’s. If it happened again, he was determined to stop the shaking as he’d already done.   
  
Vilkas did his best to push back all the thoughts that ran through his shaken mind. Try as he might he could only fall into a light slumber as his beast blood boiled.


	18. Dead Fish, Laugher, and Friendship

Laughter rang out as the Dragonborn struck a regal pose in the middle of the road. Elriah tried to look as snooty as possible, causing Athis to practically double over as he clutched at his sides.  
  
“Do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying, of course you don't,” Elriah mimicked with a flick of his hand. “Smelly travelers like you shouldn’t dare step foot in our grand hold, let alone track mud on our doorsteps.”  
  
Farkas caught on quick, pointing at his husband with a grin. “Nazeem, right? That coward hasn’t dared to show his face after that.”  
  
Athis choked, trying to hold back another guffaw of laughter. He sniggered as he stood, still flushed. “Never in my life have I seen a man so terrified as he was when the guard told him that our nord here was the Dragonborn.” His red eyes twinkled with mirth. “ _And_ the new Thane of Whiterun.”  
  
“I do have to admit I enjoyed seeing him scurry off after that.” Elriah beamed. Traveling was always hard, but with his two closest friends at his sides, it was certainly bearable. The Harbinger tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder what ever happened to him after that.”   
  
Athis shrugged. “Probably ran off, figured that was better than getting gutten by our burly friend over here.” the dark elf patte Farkas’ shoulder.  
  
“I dunno, but what I do know is that we should get back to finding Vilkas.” Farkas walked by Elriah and Athis at a brisk pace, eyes forward. His shoulders were just a little too tense it seemed as Elriah hummed in displeasure. Elriah’s eyebrow rose in question as he turned around to watch his husband.  
  
Athis let out a slow laugh as he realized what Elriah had.   
  
“Farkas, you wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with his disappearance would you?” Elriah tried to catch up, barely holding back his smile.  
  
Farkas snorted at the idea as the two Companions in turn began to follow. “You kidding? If he were dead half of Whiterun would be thanking me by now.” He paused. “But I did think about it.”  
  
“Who hasn't?” Athis snorted. “I'm surprised no one paid for us to do it. I would have cut them a deal. _Then_ his throat”   
  
Elriah sped up until he was walking in front of Farkas, turned, and continued to travel backwards without hesitance or difficulty. “I never said he was dead or that he was even killed. All I said was that he disappeared and asked if you knew anything about it.”  
  
Farkas shrugged and continued to look down the road past his husband who was still waiting for an answer. The normally friendly warrior was nothing of his usual self as he steeled his expression. He looked eerily similar to his town.  
  
“Farkas….” Elriah’s voice rose, far too sweet and loving as he smiled tenderly. “What did you do?”  
  
Farkas grunted, unhappy that his husband hadn’t given up. Then again Elriah was never one to let a question go unanswered. The false tone was a trap - and he knew it. “Told you, I didn’t do anything. You were your own man and I knew you could handle it yourself so I left it at that.”

  
Not a trace of worry or deceit crossed Farkas’s face as he continued on his way. Elriah frowned at this, but did offer a smile of appreciation shortly after. “Sadly I never got the chance to, but I did think about setting him on fire with a spell or two.”  
  
Athis rubbed his chin, eyeing Farkas. “Well then, if you didn’t do anything, who did?” The dark elf wasn't about to give up the chase. It was rare to be able to mess with a member of the circle, and this was far too good to let slip away.  
  
“Nazeem could have just left you know, he was probably embarrassed and fled as soon as he realized what an ass he was.” Farkas pointed out.  
  
“Aha!” Athis’s red eyes glittered as he squinted happily. “You’re covering for someone!”   
  
“What?” Farkas stared blankly. “I never said that…”   
  
“You didn't,” Athis agreed. “But Nazeem was too full of himself to realize he’s an ass unless someone told him with the end of their blade.”  
  
“Oh, I think you’re right my Elven friend!” Elriah slung an arm around the two Companions. “And who pray tell did what, dear heart of mine?”  
  
Farkas winced at the endearing words, out of embarrassment and dread. His husband may be sweet, but when he would call him that of all things it was assuredly a trick. Farkas sighed, his brothers watching closely with badly hidden grins. “Fine, I’ll tell you, just don’t let them know or I won’t hear the end of it.”   
  
Both Athis and Elriah nodded.   
  
Farkas sighed. “...It was Vilkas. He caught Nazeem that night right outside his farm. Must have said something good ‘cause that morning he fled for Riften.”  
  
Elriah’s brows rose quickly in surprise. “Vilkas, out of everyone in town who could have done it….” He was almost touched, though he was quick to question his husband again. “I thought back then your brother hated me, wanted me to march right back up that mountain and to leave you the hell alone?” Elriah laughed baffled at the mere thought. “I can recall all of the times he’d tell me off, even told me to go sod off and get eaten by a dragon one time.”   
  
“He told us as much.” Athis added with a sharp toothed grin. " _Often_."  
  
“No arguments there, Vilkas hated everything about you.” Farkas smiled at the memories. “Only reason he didn’t do anything was ‘cause Kodlak told him off. You shoulda seen his face when I told him I was gonna marry you.”  
  
“Then why’d he do it?” Athis inquired, arm also draped across his shoulder. He’d heard enough sappy things from the warrior to last a lifetime - and refused to give them the chance to start about it again.  
  
Elriah nodded and pointed his chin at their Elven Companion. “What he said.”  
  
“That’s what I asked him. Tried to pass it off as protecting Kodlak’s healer at first ,but after a while I got him to crack. Apparently only he could be an ass to Elriah, no one else.” Farkas leaned against his husband. “ _That’s_ how I knew he was warming up to you.”

  
Elriah chuckled and patted his husband’s broad shoulders. “Let’s get back to finding that brother of yours then. I’d hate to make him change his mind after all that.”   
  
“Nah, I’m sure he’s enjoying a break.”   
  
“Or getting his legs chewed off,” Athis added under his breath. He ignored Farkas’ frown and shrugged. “What?”

The Harbinger shook his head as they continued down the road.  
  
Eventually, Eriah and his Companions’ steps slowed to a stop. Farther down the road lying in plain view in the middle of their path was a shaggy form of a beast. The daylight did little to identify it as they crept closer. The strange creature took up a large portion of the cobble path as it stretched out its bulky body. 

Elriah couldn’t help but laugh at the sight before him moments later.

Athis was running down the road while being chased by a large angered bear, and that bear was being chased by Farkas. Athis had tried his best to sneak around the bear, hoping for a surprise and easy kill. He had been only a foot away when the beast woke up. Once the bear started chasing him Farkas had tried to kill the bear with his greatsword.  
  
Elriah lost sight of them as they ran out of sight around a bend in the road.  
  
“Oh the great Companions of Jorrvaskr, fearless and cunning…” Elriah sighed before quietly laughing yet again. There was no need for him to worry; his comrades could handle a bear on their own. If they had helped him kill a dragon there was little reason for him to hurry now to help with a meager grizzly.  
  
He caught up to them shortly to find Farkas already beginning to skin the bear while Athis stood somewhat nearby seemingly offended. It was apparent that Farkas had made the kill, leaving Athis quite visibly irked. Speed could be useful in battle, but his trusty daggers against an angry bear would never fare well - while the great sword apparently did so little trouble at all.  
  
Elriah looked to the nearby road sign.   
  
The trio was approaching Eastmarch just as planned. The land had begun to give way to snow and geysers. It had been almost three days since they had left Whiterun’s familiar hold. The traveling Companions were hoping to come across their brother soon as their supplies began to turn stale, but bear meat would certainly help.   
  
Their departure had been delayed as Elriah made preparations and spoke privately to Aela. The Yarl had called for a meeting as well, calling for a decision on what to do with the surrounding camps of bandits. The minute the simple decision to rather bluntly kill them all was decided; Elriah slipped out of the town's doors, brothers in tow. Which was why they now were finally on the road, staring down at a bead grizzly. 

Farkas smiled at Elriah for the first time since they received the grim news of Vilkas’ disappearance. Elriah’s heart warmed at the sight, thankful that his husband had found something to think about other than his twin. “What do you think Elriah, should I sell the fur or keep it?” Farkas held a part of the pelt up for inspection.

Though happy for him, the harbinger could only roll his eyes at his husband’s question. He flailed his arms in jest. “You already have a lot of furs at home, why don’t you sell it and use the gold to get them made into something useful? Like a blanket or armor lining.”  
  
Farkas’s smile only grew at his sarcastic antics. Athis began to pull teeth and claws out of the carcass. “Yeah you’re right,” the mountain of a nord nodded, “I do need new lining in my boots.”  
  
Elriah took his place on a fallen log as the other Companions worked on the bear. He took the time to pull out his bag to check the supplies. His hidden satchel rested hidden away, covered by the bag's false bottom lining. Above the satchel’s hidden chamber rested a journal and quill, as well as a handmade inkwell amid other things.   
  
Elriah took out his journal and began to scribble on a clean page. He began to sketch the sight in front of him, taking time to shape the burly build of the bear and husband. He sketched Athis as well, and took time to get the hawk like darkened features down perfectly.  
  
By the time the bear was done being skinned and the meat taken from its bones, two hours had passed. The Companions went back to the road and continued their journey, supplies well stocked with bear meat and Athis with a pocket filled with fangs and claws.   
  
Not too far away, another Companion had found success in his hunt.   
  
Husk stirred awake as Vilkas came back to camp, dropping two rather torn up fish by the fire.  
  
“They’re fresh. Strayed too close to the shore while I was cleaning my blade, so I decided to teach them a lesson!” Vilkas chuckled warm heartedly at his own little joke, coaxing a small humored laugh from the injured Halfelf as well before he drifted back to sleep, leaving Vilkas to start and tend to the cooking fire. 

It was midday as Vilkas sat in front of his fire, scorching his catch. The warmth from both the sun and the fire was uncomfortable at best, but they couldn’t eat fish raw. Behind the warrior Husk was resting on his stomach peacefully, his arms folded and used as a pillow.

It was as if the convulsing attack had never happened, but Vilkas knew better than to hope. Husk was acting as if it hadn’t occurred, so Vilkas kept from bringing it up. There was a chance that Husk had no recollection of it or what he had said, and perhaps it was best left at that.  
  
Vilkas refused to admit it as he poked at the cooking fish, but Aela had been right about one thing. He was a terrible cook. He huffed as he turned the fish over, hoping he hadn't burned it too badly already. 

Husk’s fever had still yet to break, but any sort of bleeding had thankfully stopped. Sadly infection had settled into the gash on his head as well as further into his back, much to Vilkas’s dismay. He had searched the bandits supplies, but had only found another small healing potion that would only aid in closing wounds but do nothing for the fever nor the infection.

Vilkas prodded the fish with a stick as it seared. As the fire licked at the catch while Vilkas’s mind began to wander over the thought of Husk’s recovery. When would it be safe for Husk to break camp and head for Jorrvaskr, he wondered? The fever would possibly take another few days to break, and after that it would take time for the new wounds to close enough to not reopen while traveling.

The infection was the biggest problem. He feared the chance of another spasm attack as well. It was foolish to hope things would go easily but he had no other option than to pray to the divines’ for things would go smoothly from there on. He refused to think back on how he’d hoped for Husk’s death.

Vilkas did not have long to think as a familiar voice broke his train of thought.  
  
“Smells good,” commented Husk as he was lulled awake by the aroma.  
  
Husk had been drifting in and out constantly throughout the days - but one thing had become a habit. Vilkas fought a smile as he continued to cook the fish. Of course Husk would wake up in time for food. He always did. “Aye, it should be ready soon enough.” Vilkas stretched and grunted as he popped his back, making Husk flinch.  
  
“Sorry for using the good bedroll …” he apologized, wincing at the sound.  
  
“Think nothing of it, you need the rest more than I do after all,” Vilkas replied.Husk said nothing as he began to watch the fish sizzle on the fire. Eventually he pulled the cooked fish out of the fire a while later and placed it on two wooden plates that had been found in the supplies. As carried the fish into the tent.  
  
“So Husk, how do you feel? Any better?” Vilkas ventured as he put the food down as he relaxed next to his new ally.  
  
Husk sat up stiffly with help from the Companion. “A bit, my head isn’t hurting as bad. My limbs feel like lead though.” Husk chuckled to himself in embarrassment as he slowly sat up. “Actually my _everything_ feels like lead now that I think about it.”  
  
Vilkas responded with a gruff chuff of his own, suppressing the smile from Husk’s childish quip. Once he was happy with how Husk was sitting he handed him one of the plates. There was no pause between the offer of food and the acceptance. Husk had gotten over the careful way he would accept food, instead he would give it no thought and take it without worry.   
  
It was a good change to see.  
  
Thanking him with a smile, Husk slowly began to pick at the fish. Careful and slow to avoid the sharp bones and to prevent upsetting his already queasy stomach.  
  
Needless to say, the fish took little time at all to eat.  
  
Once they were done Vilkas sat back and watched Husk lay back down onto the bedroll. Husk watched him as well from the corner of his eye, though had no idea what to say or do now that they were actually alone and fully awake. The thought was mutual. It was a bit awkward for them both, but neither did anything to stop it. Husk was lying on his side with an arm propped up to hold his head while studying his other hand’s scars and burns. Vilkas was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, staring out of the tent's opening.  
  
“Can I ask you something?” Vilkas ventured after a while. Both were relieved the awkward silence was finally over. Husk nodded as he turned to face him. “What’s it like to you, the beast blood?”  
  
The question made Husk hum as he thought of how to word it. He felt safer talking to Vilkas about such things than he did Aela, that much was apparent as he still lay relaxed. The trust was certainly still intact. “It's there, but it’s not constant. Well, it is…I just don’t feel the pull from it much. I’ve never had a lot of trouble with it. Being a beast, it’s all I really know.” Husk shrugged. “There is no separation between me and my instincts.”  
  
Vilkas nodded as he inquired more, though the wording troubled him greatly. “What about when you transform? I’ve noticed you can control your turnings, have you always been able to do that?”

Vilkas backtracked hurriedly as the question made Husk grimace. His face hinted bad memories lurked just under the surface. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to; I won’t force you. This is just friendly chatter after all, not an interrogation.”  
  
Husk gave him a forgiving, though troubled smile. “How long have you been a Companion?” Husk’s light voice showed no sign of his previous worry, but he still changed the subject all the same.  
  
Vilkas shrugged in return. “My brother and I have been Companions since our adopted Da brought us to Jorrvaskr. So about thirty, almost forty years give or take.” When Husk starred in surprise, Vilkas offered a quiet, “I don't see a reason to keep track of the years.”  
  
This made Husk curious as he moved to prop himself up on his elbows and flipped onto his stomach. “You have a brother?” he asked, surprised.  
  
Vilkas smiled as he thought of his twin. “Aye, a twin named Farkas. He’s a bit bigger, thing is I inherited the brains while he got the bulk.”  
  
They shared a chuckle at the notion. Husk smiled more as he asked about their lives. Apparently the thought of a bulky Vilkas was rather funny to him from the grinning.  
  
“Children are a hassle all their own, let alone two of them! You two got into trouble often, I take it?”  
  
Vilkas could only grin and nod. “Aye, that we did and we did it well. I still do, apparently, cause troubles sitting right next to me!”  
  
A playful glare was shot right back as Husk tried his best to look insulted. “Well trouble can’t believe you’re so old!”  
  
Amusement filled the camp as Vilkas truly laughed full heartedly. Husk was laughing as well, his raspy laugh sounding like bells compared to Vilkas’s loud rough guffaws.  
  
Vilkas wiped tears from his eyes as he regained his composure. He was happy to see Husk being curious as well as talkative, let alone laughing. He hoped that it meant that recovery was closer and that Husk would continue to show signs of his personality. It was more enjoyable taking care of someone that could actually hold a conversation, instead of a lifeless body after all.  
  
They sat together in the tent as they relaxed near the dying fire.

“I wonder what Aela would do if I went back with you,” murmured Husk. 

Vilkas scowled at the thought. The atmosphere went from playful to downright depressing. Husk had said it in a sad tone, but there was no mistaking the edge of curiosity. He really wanted to know. Not out of fear, but of pure interest. He genuinely wanted to know what would be lurking and waiting for them.

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks, but what does matter is that we get you back into society. There’s more to life than cages and chains.” Vilkas huffed.

Husk smiled briefly. “Jorrvaskr sounds nice, but…is it a good idea? She did have a point.”

Vilkas scowled harder as he tried to word his thoughts. “Jorrvaskr is open to anyone with a fire burning in their hearts. I’m sure you’ve heard about it from the Silverhands. You’ve definitely got the fire in you to have survived as long as you have.” He paused and watched as Husk confirmed such with a nod. “I have little doubt that you’ll fit right in once we get you patched up. There is a good chance if nothing else that we can at least help you get on your feet.” 

Husk scoffed under his breath. “The Silverhands said you take jobs to deal with bandits to eat them alive and that everyone there is a werewolf.” Husk jumped in surprise as Vilkas gave a sudden bark of laughter.  
  
“We don’t eat bandits! Who knows what sort of diseases they carry. No, not everyone is a werewolf either; I’d hate to think what Tovar would be like as one!” Vilkas shook his head. “He’s a drunken fool but he’s nice enough. I can only imagine the drunkard of a werewolf stumbling right into a border patrol.”  
  
The rest of the day droned on comfortably spent as Vilkas shared stories of Jorrvaskr as the sun began to set.  
  
Vilkas had been in the middle of telling a story of how he had taken down a mammoth when he looked down at his charge. Husk had fallen asleep with his head still propped up in his hands. Carefully Vilkas moved him so that his head was resting comfortably on the bedroll. He was amazed at how deeply the werewolf seemed to sleep with his beast blood. After a moment of studying the sleeping face, Vilkas got up to look for dinner, leaving a sleeping Husk in the tent. 

It was hard to imagine Husk as a killer, but Vilkas found himself unafraid. He was getting to know the man, not just the beast. Fullblood or not, the Companion could respect the man who laughed and shared stories of bandits.  
  
He could only hope the next few days would be just as enjoyable.


	19. When In Doubt, Use A Deer

“If your idiotic brother ever says I owe him anything after this, i’ll have him tell that to my sword,” Athis scowled. He scoffed as he yanked his leg free from the rough underbrush. The decorative carvings of his armor caught every little branch. “He’ll be lucky if Elriah finds him first!”   
  
“Oh yeah? Why’s that.” Farkas glanced down at his shorter companion. Practically everyone was short compared to him, though. Even his husband was. He frowned, looking back towards the road they had parted at. Elriah had decided they should split, but Farkas still had a bad feeling about it. His frown deepened.   
  
“Because our Harbinger will scold him with words,” Athis explained dryly. “But i’m tempted to do so with  _ fists _ .”    
  
“You don't mean that.” Farkas grinned as he helped Athis out of the ditch. “We both know you’re as worried as everyone else.” The elf slapped his hand away as soon as they were out.   
  
“Oh I’m worried alright,” Athis spat. “Worried we’ll get ourselves killed because he decided to run off and make a friend!”  Farkas could only nod at his shield-brother's words while Athis continued to complain. His hands flew out in annoyance. “What if this is some sort of trap and we’re walking right into the Silverhand’s waiting maws?”

  
“Nah, Alea would have told us if she suspected something, and a trap still wouldn’t say why Vilkas left like that. The only thing we need to worry about is finding him and taking care of the other wolf, even if that means using Elriah’s poison.”

  
Athis glanced at him in surprise.

  
Farkas returned the look with a sad smile as they continued their search. “Elriah only brings that specific bag when he thinks we’ll need to put one down. I know he doesn’t want me to worry, but I’m not stupid... at least not  _ that _ stupid.” Farkas trailed off. “...I won’t lie, I want to talk to my brother before we do anything else, but who knows.” He shrugged. “Elriah will do the right thing either way.”

  
Athis could only gawk at his fellow Companion, surprised that Farkas wasn’t blind or ignorant to the situation as thought before. He was quick to hide it again however, and reached out to pat Farkas’ shoulder. “Either way, we’ll find your brother.”   
  
“Don't you mean  _ our _ shield-brother?”    
  
“I  _ refuse _ to claim him after all this. He’s all yours.”    
  
Farkas could only chuckle and shove Athis - accidentally so into another ditch.   
  
After rescuing the elf yet again, the two continued their task. They had left the main road far behind them, knowing that Vilkas would never set camp somewhere that anyone could find. It was a blessing when traveling with him - but searching was another story entirely. Soon enough, even Farkas found himself cursing his brother’s careful ways under his breath.   
  
They had searched for what Farkas assumed had been an hour when they finally found something. Without warning, he grabbed Athis’s wrist roughly, yanking him to the ground.

  
“What in oblivion do you think you’re doing-” Athis began, but was forced into silence as Farkas’ heavy hand covered half his face. The elf was about to kick him, but quickly fell still. His eyes followed as Farkas began to point.    
  
Flickering between the thick branches, a small campfire shook in the breeze. It was hard to judge the distance, but as the Companion’s both took a long breath, the smoke found its way towards them. As did a new scent.    
  
The companions shared a look as Farkas finally let go of Athis’ face.

  
Athis nodded in understanding as they made their way further through the foliage. “Remember, utmost caution. Don’t be afraid to use your blade if necessary,” Athis whispered as the fire got closer. As they approached, so did someone else. Athis and Farkas stilled. Three strangers walked right past them, close enough that Farkas could feel the breeze as a hip passed next to his cheek.    
  
The Companions watched silently as the three men disappeared towards the camp.

  
“You deal with them, while I check the perimeter. I’m going to make sure that there’s no one else snooping around, then take off.” Athis’ voice was low as he gave his orders. He ignored the look of confusion his brother gave. “ _ Someone _ has to go tell your Husband,” he added. “This may be nothing, but he’ll have my head if it's not.”   
  
That was enough as Farkas gave a nod, and vanished into the underbrush.    
  
Athis sighed. As he began to creep away, it didn't take but a moment until he stumbled across someone else. But before he could speak, or draw his weapon, Athis was left gasping for air as a body tackled him. He drew his dagger. Uselessly he stabbed and slashed - doing what he could to fend off the attacker crushing him.   
  
The stranger drew his sword.    
  
Athis expected to die in that moment - but as someone else came crashing into the clearing, his assailant turned his attention elsewhere. The fight had begun.    
  
As Vilkas turned to attack the new enemy his blade came in contact with flesh, dropping them without warning. The bandit fell to the ground, but was quickly replaced as another slammed into him from behind. The Companion shouted in rage - turning as he swung his blade. The sword’s strike found its mark. The new bandit gurgled as blood poured out of her mouth, but no words came. The corpse fell as he tugged the blade free with a sickening  _ squelch _ .    
  
Vilkas let his attention shift to the man who was struggling to get out from under the deer. He’d been returning after a successful hunt when the assailant had snuck up behind him. He’d done what he could to buy time to draw his sword - even if that meant using the deer. He frowned. Whoever he’d caught had cut the damned thing to ribbons. He huffed. At least skinning it would be easier now.   
  
As Vilkas approached, intending to dispatch the last attacker. That was, until he spotted a familiar pair of red eyes glaring savagely at him. For a moment he thought his own eyes were playing tricks. However, his ears weren’t as the elf began loudly cussing. “Athis...?”    
  
“Oh good, you haven't fully lost your mind,” Athis snapped. “Now get this damned thing off me before someone else shows up!”   
  
The elf stopped struggling and was quickly relieved of the carcass that had been pinning him down. Vilkas quickly helped Athis to his feet. He had no idea whether he should feel relieved that one of the Companions was there, or to feel dread that it was Athis. The two had never quite gotten on overly friendly terms.    
  
Either way, it was still somewhat better than another bandit. 

  
“ ’Ello Vilkas, I see you're doing well.” Athis sneered as he glanced at his brother over, miffed from the deer incident. He brushed dirt from his shoulders as he spoke. “And here you had us all worried that something had rattled your head and made you frolic away with a Silverhand  _ mutt _ .”

  
“I’m fine. And for your information there was no frolicking involved.” Vilkas’ tone was colored with warning. Any annoyance he’d managed to get rid of while on the hunt quickly flooded back. “I was planning on returning as soon as I could once Husk could manage it.”

  
Athis raised an eyebrow “Husk? That’s what you call it?” The elf shook his head. “Aela was right, you have gone mad.”

  
“Husk is a fine Lad; he’s just new to freedom is all.” Vilkas corrected the Companion gruffly. “Now, I doubt you came out here on your own, so where, and who, is our Shield-sibling?”

  
Athis cracked a small smile as he pointed his head towards camp. “Your oaf of a brother is checking your camp as we speak, and Elriah is just down the north road. Once he heard there was a stray he decided to come along.”

  
The mention of Elriah caused the hairs on the back of Vilkas' neck stand on edge. Farkas was one thing, but the Harbinger…? Farkas wouldn’t harm Husk, at least he hoped, but if his brother-in-law was nearby, it meant Elriah didn’t want to let Husk any closer to Jorrvaskr than he already was.

  
Before Vilkas could speak, a shriek pierced through the quiet. He drew his sword and ran, forgetting completely about his deer or the brother he left behind.   



	20. Murder, Mead, and Friendly Threats

Husk jolted awake as a shudder shook through him. Even with the thick lining of the bedroll, the harsh chill managed to sneak through the gaps in the seams. Husk groaned, snuggling down deeper. Just as he was on the cusp of blessed sleep yet again - the wind blew open the tent flap like the crack of a whip. “Hircine above...” The half elf cursed under his breath. Aches plagued him, but he managed to drag himself up to sit.   
  
“I’d ask how our fires doing, but that won't do much good,” Husk mumbled tiredly. The bedroll beside laid empty. Vilkas usually gave off enough body heat to keep the tent, and his back, comfortable. It was certainly warmer than sleeping alone. Husk pulled his makeshift blanket closer. The bear fur cloak, which Vilkas had yet to reclaim, sadly proved to be of little help. 

Stiffly Husk managed to pull himself onto his knees. Pinpricks of pain trickled down his spine. He paused. Carefully rolling his shoulders, he was met with only minor resistance. He sighed, frowning at the very idea of what he was about to do. But it had to be done. Gingerly Husk used the tent’s support pole before slowly pulling himself up. His legs burned from the effort. Normally, _if it could be called normal_ , he would have simply dealt with the cold. But things had changed. 

Things were different. For once he actually had some say so - and what he wanted was to not freeze to death. Squinting, he eyed the distance between himself and the campfire. In all honesty, the simple risk of stumbling was far better than catching a cold. There was no masking the feeling of sickness as it lurked in his bones. He was ill; he knew, and there was still the strong chance that he would die. Husk understood death., and had accepted it long before Vilkas or Aela had found him..  
  
However, acceptance didn't mean he would lie down and accept his fate.   
  
A possible future, a home alongside the man who had rescued him, and protection from the Silverhand - the possibilities were too precious to let death steal away so needlessly. Husk didn't want to think on how the Companion would react if he returned to camp, only to find him dead from the cold. The warrior would probably blame himself, Husk figured. He refused to allow it. After the fight that had ended with Aela leaving...Husk refused to damage the man’s conscious any further. 

Husk shuffled stiffly out of the tent and towards the fire. Each step swayed as his head began to spin - but he persisted. The low flames did little to help him see. Shadows reached out and mingled together as they danced by the corners of camp and swam in the edges of his vision.

Carefully, _finally_ , Husk managed to sit down in front of the dying embers. He shuddered. Each breath left a fire of its own behind as he wheezed.. There had only been twelve steps from the tent to the fire, but it was twelve more steps than he wanted to take. A violent shiver ran down his frame.   
  
New kindling was given to the blaze, feeding not only the fire, but his pride. 

Husk sat by quietly. Its gentle orange glow grew quickly. It defied the wind as it flickered, but never gave in. Much like himself. Husk chuckled softly at the parallel. Fire had caused him so much pain in the past, but he held no fear of it as he held out his hands to warm them.   
  
Husk couldn't wait to show the Companion that he was doing better.   
  
Turns out he didn't have to wait long. The werewolf grinned as a glint of armor caught his eyes. “Find anything good out there?”   
  
“We’re about to find out.” 

Husk’s blood ran cold.

The Imperial bandit forced a yellowed crooked smile as he lumbered into the camp. Wiping his bent nose on his sleeve, he waved with a heavily scarred hand - but it wasn't in greeting. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a beggar,” he laughed gravley as two more bandits came up behind him. A nord joined his boss followed, by an old scraggly Orc.   
  
Husk said nothing. 

“A well off beggar to boot.” The nord who’d spoken was similarly young as Husk, though there was no kindness in his eyes. The same could be said for the war ravaged Orc whose arms bore thick long scars and a chipped sword on his hip.One of the men began to go through the crates while the Orc approached Husk.   
  
Husk said nothing, only eyeing them over with quiet regard. Even as the leader flashed his blade, the werewolf only blinked in indifference.   
  
“He’s a bit of a slow beggar too, me thinks.” The Orc bandit kicked at the dirt, purposefully aiming it Husk’s way.   
  
“I wouldn’t go through those boxes if I were you. They’re rittled with disease,” He finally spoke, bordely, clearing his throat from the dust.  
  
The head bandit threw his head back with a laugh, shrugging off the warning. Another small healing potion found its way into the Imperials hand. Its red gleam was soon splattered into the dirt as it was thrown to the ground, shattering the glass.  
  
Husk shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, suite yourself. If you catch blood-rot, or have your blood drained by a vampire that’s your fault.”  
  
The bandits paused. Slowly their faces turned towards him, expressions blended with confusion and concern.   
  
Husk smiled lazily, which in itself was a miracle given he was absolutely terrified. Desperation, something he’d grown to know, settled over him. The only chance of survival was to hold out. He knew that. It was impossible for him to shift so soon, even without the injuries. All he could hope for was Vilkas’ swift return. Otherwise….he tried not to think about what would happen. Husk suppressed a shudder. He would _much_ rather go by sickness.   
  
It was time to do what the Silverhand knew best.   
  
Lie until something worked.

Without a word Husk smiled. Fangs peaked through his lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve fed...” He dragged his tongue against the point of his teeth, eyeing them thoughtfully. “Then again you’ve probably already been infected by the disease from the boxes.” He tilted his head to the side, lower lip coming out slightly in a small disinterested pout. 

The head bandit yanked the rusty sword from his belt. Husk only smiled more in return. Not just to play the part, but from the spark of hope as a scent reached him.  
  
 _Vilkas_ .   
  
Husk had no choice but to buy more time until the trained fighter could help him. Husk’s eyes went towards the bandit who was beginning to shake, bringing his eyebrow to a knit. “The first thing the sickness does is make you feel weak at the knees, then the trembles start and your heart begins to beat so hard it eventually just gives out,” Husk explained sadly, as if he’d lost his meal. “A pity really.”  
  
All color left the bandit’s face.  
  
Fear washed over the camp as the bandit’s heart pounded against his ribs. Husk almost laughed. If he really was a vampire there would be no way for him to be any danger to them anyways in his condition. Not that _they_ needed to know that.  
  
Terrifying or not, Husk had to admit that he was having fun.   
  
The head bandit laughed nasally as he crept closer. It was a raspy sound that almost reminded Husk of snooty royalty. “Look here you freak, there’s no sickness or vampires, you’re just some beggar with teeth and now you’re going to be a dead beggar!” Husk did his best to fake a yawn. The leader’s face darkened. “If you think me and my men here would fall for such a dirty trick you have another thing coming,” he vowed raspily. “When we get done with you there’ll be nothing but ribbons!”  
  
Vilkas’ silhouette appeared behind the bandits, however Husk felt anything but assured as the bandit’s weapons were drawn. There was still too much distance. There wasn't enough time. As the Imperial raised his sword, Husk let out a low growl. He refused to die by the hands of such scum.

A shriek pierced the night.  
  
Distracted by the feral sound, which had leant some truth to the Vampire claim, the bandit’s were left unaware as the Companion rose behind them. It was a deadly mistake. As a second growl filled the air, the leader’s head snapped around, forgetting about the other threat. Husk drew Aela’s dagger.   
  
The bandit who had shrieked was cut off - as was his head. Crimson splattered as it flew from his shoulders. The Companion leapt on his next victim. A warcry rang out. Stumbling forward, the Orc grabbed the blade that stuck out from his stomach. A curse bubbled from his lips, as did the blood before he finally fell with a clatter.   
  
Husk seized the moment and _lept_ .   
  
Husk fell forward along with the corpse; tumbling off with a wheeze as they were thrown to the ground. Blinding pain forced Husk to let go of the dagger. When the dust finally cleared, the werewolf lingered on the ground, fighting to catch his breath. The dagger was still buried in the leader’s back.

Once some of the dust settled, Husk opened his eyes, glaring over at the imperial. He was dead.   
  
On the cautious side of things, Husk reached out with his boot and prodded the bandit. Dead. Husk smiled. Not only had he managed to distract the bandits, but he had even spilt the blood of their leader! Pride rushed through him. It was a fine hunt in his eyes; even injured he and Vilkas had made them pay for setting foot in their camp. He expected to see Vilkas glowing from the hunt, but slowly the smile fell from his face.   
  
The stranger offered his hand.

Burly and as thick as a mountain, the man bore a striking resemblance to the nord Husk had hoped to see. Husk continued to stare blankly - only to find himself yanked up anyways. He didn't dare argue as the stranger stood him up, and nodded as if nothing had happened. Similar war paint smudged around the accusing eyes, though some of it was hidden behind the longer hair.

Husk stared at the stranger, uncertain of what to do. There was little chance that Vilkas’s twin was out in the middle of nowhere, he decided. But the stranger had helped him, saved him really. Even helped him stand.   
  
Maybe he wasn’t a threat.  
  
The warrior stared back at him, his face calm and undisturbed by the killing they had just done. Without warning the nord dropped unceremoniously. The armor clattered as he took a rough seat by the fire. He was glaring at Husk now as his mouth pulled into a frown. He scanned the camp. When he had his fill, he looked to Husk, then nodded in a silent order to sit.   
  
Husk didn't dare argue.

He finally found the confidence to speak as he sat, making sure to move away from the corpse. The order didn't bother him. He was thoroughly too exhausted from the stabbing to even think about complaining.   
  
“Companion..?” Husk guessed, caution edging his tone. When the other man didn't move to correct him, Husk continued. “Thanks for the help back there.”

Farkas looked back at him before giving a small smile. “It was nothing; Bandits are the easiest bastards to kill.” Husk found himself agreeing with a chuckle. Both of the men seemed to relax as they shared a nod. Farkas removed the bag from his back. “But work is work.”   
  
“I fear I don't have much to pay you with.” Husk looked towards the crates. “That I know of, at least.”   
  
“Nah, no need for that.” Farkas shrugged as he rummaged around his rucksack. “You could repay me by telling me where my brother is.”

There was a moment of hesitation. “…You’re Vilkas’s twin?”

Farkas nodded sharply, earning a bewildered deadpanned stare from Husk. Farkas squinted in warning.

“ _He left a while ago while I was sleeping and hasn’t come back yet._ ” Husk swallowed hard as soon as the rushed explanation left his lips.   
  
Farkas squinted before looking over once more, but nodded anyways. “Alright then, guess I’ll wait here. I’m Farkas.”

“Then thank you, Farkas.” Husk nodded his head quickly in gratitude. “You really came at the perfect time.”

Farkas huffed at him once more, either amused at his attempt to be polite or by the fact he had bothered to at all. Husk wasn't sure. Farkas pointed to Husk as he leaned forward. “And your name is…?”

Husk felt his face warm up from embarrassment.“Husk, my name is Husk.” He groaned inwardly. Talking _really_ wasn’t his strong point.

Farkas nodded in acknowledgment, and Husk nodded back. Vilks had said his twin was the quieter of the two, but Husk was caught off guard by just how many times they had nodded. Nervously Husk looked around the camp, hoping that the other brother would soon return.

“So, why’d my brother leave with the likes of you and not come back with his Shield-sister?” Farkas asked. His gruff voice came out like a growl.

Any courage Husk had felt while facing the bandits had vanished, faced now by the fellow werewolf. A rather large werewolf who had just decapitated someone mere minutes ago, in fact. He paused, unsure of where to start. “I have no clue where your brother is.”   
  
“ _Bullshit_ .”   
  
“No, truly, I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that Vilkas likes to leave. You of all people should know how he sneaks off.” Farkas snorted in agreement. “As for why, again, I haven't a clue. All that I _do_ know is that after the fight with Aela... we left to….” He trailed off as Farkas began to stand.

Husk could swear he felt his own heart stop.   
  
“So you really did attack Aela. You admit it.” Farkas stood slowly, glare growing as he came to loom fully over Husk. Husk stared back at him with wide, worried eyes.

“If you did anything to my brother I'll make you regret it,” the mountain of a nord ground out. “If you didn’t, you and I will be fine -But if you did I'll break every last bone in your body. Don’t think I won’t put a few cracks in for Aela either. _Got it?_ ”   
  
Husk shrank down. Fighting bandits would be one thing, but fighting Vilkas’s twin would only end badly for him in a number of ways. Rather deadly, bloody, head losing sort of ways.  
  
Farkas didn't draw his sword.   
  
Instead, just as he had before, Farkas plopped back down in front of the fire. This time however, he was grinning. The once deadly gaze had turned soft, so much so that Husk actually wondered if it was the same man from a moment ago.   
  
Taking a hold of his rucksack, Farkas finally pulled out a bottle of mead. His smile grew. “Here. We deserve some after that fight.” Farkas held it out in offering. “You killed good.”   
  
Surprised by the sudden change of the terrifyingly large man in front of him, Husk could only shake his head. Shrugging, Farkas opened it for himself. “Too bad. It woulda helped the pain, and it looks like you could use some with those cuts all over you,” Farkas added. “By the way, vice idea with the Vampire thing. Scared them shitless.”

“Thanks." Husk blinked, still uncertain on what all had happened. "I actually read about it once.”

Farkas was about to reply when another nord burst through the foliage with a warcry. Huffing and red faced from the mad dash back to camp, Vilkas stared at the corpses.

“There you are! And here I thought this whelp did something to ya!” Farkas’s face broke into a wide grin as he raised the mead in greeting. Vilkas looked back slowly to his brother, then to the bodies before finally letting his eyes fall on Husk.   
  
Husk looked towards Farkas, to the bodies, then back to Vilkas before finally giving a nervously halfhearted.  
  
Without another word Vilkas stashed the sword away and stood next to his brother before stealing and downing the mead.


	21. The Satchel

Vilkas’ face began to ache from smiling so much as Farkas eagerly replayed their meeting with the bandits.

“Your friend here pretended to be a vampire, even did the fang thing!” Farkas motioned to Husk, who smiled openly. The very same fangs peaked out, which Farkas pointed at. “He did a real good job at it too, he almost had me convinced! Anyways, after I took out the other two he sprang up. He took him out no problem - dead before he even hit the ground!”

Husk flustered at the praise. He looked down, taking fake interest in the carcass before him. A startled blush claimed his burnt cheek. The deer, which had been dragged to camp bloody and torn up, but Vilkas had refused to answer why. In the end, Farkas gave up asking and they set to work. The two brothers sat side by side as they skinned it. Husk had offered help, which was quickly refused, leaving the werewolf unable to do anything but sit across from them.   
  
Vilkas could read him well enough though from the small glares his way, however. He’d been clearly miffed at not being allowed to help the men who had saved him, despite the lack of argument.   
  
“It’s good to hear you’re familiar with a weapon at least,” Vilkas admitted. “Though I wish I had been there to see it.”  
  
Husk huffed in amusement.   
  
Farkas laughed easily as he picked up a stick wielding it like a dagger. He set his butchering knife aside. “Hey, I said he killed good, not that he knew what he was doing. He was holding the dagger like this, see?” The mountain of a Nord began to stab the air awkwardly. “He knew to stab with the pointy bit... but that’s about it. Even used both hands.” 

Husk’s brow drew to meet the burn as he looked down at his dagger. The drying blood stood dark against the intricately carved and polished steel. Without hesitation he ran the knife through the grass by his side, painting the soft green with half dried crimson.   
  
“How are you supposed to do it then?”  
  
Vilkas blinked at the unexpected question. It had taken over a day to get Husk to ask him about anything, but here he was already chatting with his brother in mere minutes. Bloodshed or not, Husk seemed unfazed. Vilkas supposed it was a step in the right direction.  
  
Farkas grinned and he began to slash the air again. “First of all you only need to hold it with one hand, not both. It’s no great sword. Second, you use your entire arm, not just your wrist. Puts more strength into it that way and isn’t as easy to lose grip on.” The warrior spoke as he would to any new whelp. 

Following the verbal lesson, Husk began to echo Farkas. He changed grip more than once as he tried to balance out the feeling of his hands. Farkas held up his stick in example. Husk nodded, fingers splaying further.

“There you go; you’ve got the hang of it!”

Vilkas made a small sound of approval as the lesson continued. The on hard edges of his face softened as proudly as Husk handled the dagger. He lifted another bottle of mead to his lips, hiding his smile from view.   
  
Husk was all but glowing with pride. 

“You don’t seem like a bad whelp,” Farkas praised. “I can see why Vilkas decided to keep you.”  
  
Vilkas choked on his mead. After recovering, which consisted of coughing up half of his drink, Vilkas snarled and punched his brother’s arm. “I didn’t decide to keep him! I helped him get away from those Silver bastards.” He shook his head. “There’s a difference. We both know you would have done the same.”  
  
Farkas gave his brother, and Husk, an apologetic smile and put up his hands, but said no more as he returned to skinning the deer. It did little to soothe his brother, but after a small moment, Husk laughed quietly.   
  
“If it helps any, you’d certainly be the nicest one i've dealt with.” The half elf smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.   
  
Farkas smiled, blissfully unaware of what had truly been said. Keeper. It was all but voiced, though both of the other men knew it lingered just below the surface.   
  
Vilkas refused to look up from his task. Husk didn’t need to worry about anything more than healing - or that Jorrvaskr was another cell to be forced into. There was nothing he could think to say, so he simply stayed quiet.   
  
By the time the buck was halfway finished, someone finally managed to speak. “Not a bad looking deer you caught there,” The warm carefree voice pointed out. “Bit scrawny to feed our small army, though.”   
  
“There you guys are!” Farkas lit up as Elriah and Athis appeared from the underbrush. Though from the looks of it, the Harbinger wore half of the shrubbery on himself. His robes were utterly riddled with twigs and thorns to the point the garment could almost serve as armor.   
  
Athis flicked a bit of wood from Elriah's shoulder.   
  
If the sight of the Harbinger hadn’t been enough to worry Husk, the sight of Athis was certainly the tipping point. Scarred legs tensed, preparing to bolt if needed. However, he was frozen in place. Red elven eyes sneered as they eyed him over; neither impressed nor amused by his presence.   
  
Husk starred.   
  
The elf scoffed. It was as if Husk had offended the elf by being in his line of sight.  
  
Unwilling to let the stare down continue any further, Vilkas forced a cough. Husk warily took his gaze off of Athis, just long enough to catch the encouraging smile that Vilkas gave. However, the Companion felt anything but encouraged to see his leader. There was a tightness around Elriah’s smile that Vilkas knew all too well. He was there to judge.   
  
A damaged Companion was cause enough.  
  
“Husk, this is Elriah, Harbinger and leader of the Companions. The living stain over there is Athis.” For the first time, Athis looked away from Husk to glare at him instead. Vilkas ignored it. “If it helps at all, Elriah is my brother in law.”   
  
“Yeah,” Farkas added helpfully. “And I don't marry assholes.”  
  
Vilkas hadn’t overlooked how startled Husk had grown, even as he gave a shaky but amused laugh at Farkas’ words. The way his legs twitched and fingers dug into the earth was clear enough. Even with the words of encouragement, only the forceful grip of his hands lessened.   
  
“I’d certainly hope not,” Elriah countered. “But I’m starting to think I _did_ .”   
  
The large warrior somehow managed to chuckle softly, happily accepting Elriah to his side as they came to sit together. The dagger-stick was tossed aside. Elriah greeted his husband with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, though was quickly drug into a one arm hug.   
  
Athis lingered at the edge of camp to keep watch.  
  
Ever so slowly, Husk set the dagger on the grass. His gaze fell solely on the Harbinger.   
  
Elriah’s lips were pressed into a thin line. His eyes traced the wounds on his face and arms, frowning further with each discovery. Watching or not, Husk refused to look him in the eyes.

Vilkas cleared his throat. The tension of the camp vanished.  
  
Elriah turned to Vilkas, eyebrow arched in question as he waited for the nervous warrior to speak. “We’ll need to take a look at you next with all that coughing you’re doing Vilkas,” he warned.  
  
“Just some dust, Harbinger.”  
  
“Somehow I highly doubt that,” Athis sniffed.  
  
Vilkas shot Athis a glare. “I am glad the _three_ of you arrived safely,” he ventured. “Husk and I had a couple of run ins with bandits.” He didn't admit that Husk had been unconscious the entire time. "Nothing we couldn't handle, though."  
  
“Well, that does explain the camp.” Elriah surmised.   
  
Farkas shrugged. “Better than Highwaymen. Now _those_ bastards are annoying. At least bandits try to kill you instead’a taking your gold.”

Vilkas found himself shaking his head fondly.   
  
“I’m sure we can all agree to that.” Elriah hummed. “But as it stands there’s something a bit more important to deal with right now.”   
  
Vilkas watched as Husk’s eyes went wide with worry. “I’m not sure what Aela’s told you, Harbinger,” he rushed. The burnt werewolf sagged in utter relief. Vilkas refused to let the decision of Husk’s life be something so cut and dry. “But Husk-”  
  
“-What my brother is saying is Husk needs a healer, and bad.”  
  
Elriah glanced to his husband in surprise, only to be met by a fierce protective frown.   
  
“Sure, let's have our Harbinger stick his hand near the killer werewolf!” Athis scoffed from the shadows. 

“Would you mind letting me get a look at you?” Elriah ventured. There was no sign that he’d heard the elf - or the resulting warning Vilkas all but snarled. “I’d like to help you if I can. But I need your permission to do so.”

Bewilderment shook away Husk’s apprehension, if only for a moment. He eyed the Harbinger cautiously. 

“Elriah here is a fine man and an even better healer. I mean it when I say that he knows what he’s doing.” Vilkas motioned to the Companions around them. Farkas puffed with pride as he pointed at the worst of his old scars. Vilkas did the same, revealing one that rested just under his hairline. “ _None of us_ would be here today if it wasn’t for him.”   
  
“He even fixed my arm after a bear shattered it!” Farkas claimed as he flexed it. Myriads of scars muddled which one had been in result.   
  
Husk’s shoulders began to relax.   
  
“He did real good too,” Farkas continued. “I only passed out twice!”   
  
His shoulders were no longer relaxed.   
  
An audible slap echoed in the camp as Vilkas held his own face with a groan. Even Athis muffled a snicker. Elriah floundered.   
  
“...It was a fairly bad break,” Elriah hesitated. He cleared his throat, casting his husband a rather tired glance. “Borderline shatter if we’re honest about it. I’m certain whatever you’re going through isn't nearly as extensive as-”   
  
“-Didn't Aela say something about seeing his spine? Sounds pretty extensive to me.”   
  
“ _Athis!_ ” Vilkas snapped.   
  
“ _What?_ It’s the truth!”   
  
Husk was all but subtle as he slid ever so further away from the campfire.   
  
Vilkas’ body shook as he let out a long, much needed sigh. No one was supposed to find them. The plan had been simple enough; get Husk stable, and then take him home. All while slowly easing Husk to the very _idea_ of the Companions. Small steps and even smaller stories that would prevent the poor bastard from being scared out of his skin. As he was now. Husk had yet to leave, but he refused to entertain the chance. Vilkas scrubbed his face.   
  
There was only one thing left to do.   
  
“I understand if you don’t trust Elriah, Husk. I know I didn't for the first damned _year_ ,” Vilkas began. The soft voice fell away into that of the third in command. Unyielding as his gaze, the Companion commanded Husk’s attention. “I’m not asking you to trust him, but if you trust _me_ you’ll let him.”   
  
Mistrust melted away into guilt as Husk’s face fell. He stared as if struck.   
  
Vilkas didn't want to dwell on why - he fucking _knew_ why. The fact that it had been an order, even after promising his freedom. Or like Aela, how he’d called something of Husk into question and had used it against him. The very thing that Husk had gifted him since they’d met. His _Trust_ .   
  
Wordlessly, Husk looked away. He gave in with a single nod.   
  
Vilkas sighed, but it was far from relief. He forced a nod of thanks. Husk returned it, though his gaze remained lowered.  
  
Elriah grunted as he stood. “I’ll try to be quick about it….” He paused mid promise. “...er, Husk, wasn't it?”   
  
“It is.” Husk didn't bother to say more before removing his shirt.   
  
“Hircine above, how did you manage to get _that_ ?” Elriah’s eyes were wide as he scanned the injury. Thick stitches crossed every which way, dark and profound at their crusted bases. It left Elriah wincing from the mere sight of it.   
  
Husk remained quiet as Elriah knelt down behind him. Neither Elriah, nor the fellow companions, had missed the way Husk had lifted his head when he heard the daedric name. For a brief moment he looked as if he wished to speak - only yet again looked away.   
  
“That’s nothing compared to when we found him. Damn flies were practically crawling around his insides!” Vilkas visibly shuddered. The memory alone was enough to make his stomach turn.   
  
Farkas made a sound of disgust next to his brother as he shuddered. Athis remained quietly keeping post, though his elf ears twitched at the comment and his lip turned up in a scowl.   
  
Elriah grimaced. His long calloused fingers were gentle as they prodded along the edge of the wound. His voice was even softer. “How did you manage to get a wound like this…?” It was followed by an apology as Husk hissed in pain.   
  
“An axe.”  
  
It had been said so quietly Elriah had barely heard it. He raised a brow. “An…Axe? This looks like a _bit_ more than an Axe strike, Husk.”  
  
Husk shifted uncomfortably. “...It was a Silver Axe. They wanted to see how well it would work.”

Elriah could only shake his head in amazement, and displeasure. It was a blatant lie. Husk looked away again, nervousness curving his lips. The Harbinger lingered, but in the end decided not to push further. Instead he chuckled humorlessly in an attempt to break the ice. “Whoever did those needs to learn how to use a bloody needle correctly! I’ve seen rags sewn up better than this!”  
  
“Aye.” Vilkas cleared his throat yet again. “But I did what I could. Found the supplies in the camp, didn't have a lot of time to spare.”  
  
Elriah hummed in thought. Eventually the healer’s attention moved to Husk’s face as he took a seat in front of him. Bulbous and deep, a blister had claimed a home just above his non burnt brow. He hissed at the sight. “Someone certainly did a number on you, didn't they?”   
  
Husk nodded with a nervous smile- only to find his chin stopped as Elriah took hold of it with forefinger and thumb. Elriah gently tilted his head to the left. Husk said nothing and complied, moving his head as it was directed with only a startled blink.  
  
A chill crept down Vilkas’s spine. Almost familiar with the action, Husk moved easily wherever the Harbinger pleased. What was worse was just how calm Elriah was about it. The leader didn't seem to think anything of it as he looked at the blistering cut in the firelight. Even Husk went along.   
  
“Now, what happened to your forehead? And don't say an axe,” Elriah warned teasingly.   
  
Husk rolled his eyes, but made no move to respond.  
  
“It was from Aela’s boot,” Vilkas cut in.   
  
Elriah frowned as he continued to move Husk’s head. He brushed a bit of Husk’s hair aside. “I take it you got it during the fight then?” The harbinger utterly ignored the companion.  
  
Athis scowled as he eyed Husk, only to be eyed right back with uncertainty. “Aela said she fought him while he was a beast. Fearless or not, I can’t imagine her kicking a werewolf in the head.” The elf huffed. “She’s headstrong, not _stupid_.”

“Stupid enough to set off an injured werewolf,” Farkas mumbled under his breath.  
  
Worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth, Husk yet again refused to answer. Even as Elriah waited patiently.   
  
“Looks like he takes after your husband,” Athis pointed out. “Certainly talked enough before we got here. Wonder what changed.”   
  
“Hey, if he doesn't want to talk then don't make him.” Farkas frowned protectively. “Poor bastard looks exhausted. He doesn't need you griping at him.”   
  
Vilkas would have normally agreed, easily, but things were too serious to be silent over. His hands tightened around the skinning knife. He went back to work, cutting into the meat with more force than necessary as his anger threatened to boil over. Didn't Husk realize that this was what saving him was supposed to lead up to? Elriah was the _Harbinger!_ The very person who even Aela had wanted him to meet!   
  
But more importantly, Elriah was the very person who would decide if he’d even be allowed to _survive_ .   
  
Forced, Vilkas found himself speaking for Husk yet again. “It was _after_ the fight.” He refused to explain the way Husk had defiantly stared her down, even as he shifted back. “He’s…. had some _troubles_ since getting that.”   
  
“Troubles?” Elriah inquired.   
  
“Aye. I’m not happy to say it but he had...” The word escaped him. “He did what Kodlak did. With the shakes.” He clarified. “Wouldn’t surprise me if that's what caused it.”  
  
Elriah went quiet as he let go of Husk’s chin. The information was catalogued away as the Harbinger sighed something just quiet enough to be unclear. “I’d appreciate it if you could let Husk speak for himself, Vilkas.”   
  
Vilkas cleared his throat in embarrassment.   
  
Elriah looked to him pointedly as he yanked a rag free from his pocket and soaked it with his waterskin. “Clear your throat again and I _will_ be forced to take a look.” Distracted by scolding his warrior, Elriah accidentally jabbed the blister as he went to wipe the wound. Husk recoiled, hissing in pain.   
  
It was followed by a growl.   
  
Vilkas’ stomach _dropped_ .   
  
All eyes fell on Elriah as the camp fell into silence. The campfire crackled. The healer regarded the werewolf as Husk sat straighter - frozen in realization of what he’d done. Without missing a beat, Elriah gave a quiet laugh and set about cleaning the wound anyways. “Easy now, Husk. I just need to see what I'll be working with.” The harbinger’s eyes crinkled at the edge as he smiled. “No need to act so unruly.”  
  
For the first time since Elriah had come to the camp, Husk finally met his gaze. Soft and without judgment, the Harbinger was gentle as he tended to his task. He smiled further, unperturbed as he greeted the man who had growled   
  
Husk’s shoulders slowly eased. “I suppose not,” he finally managed.   
  
Elriah’s smile grew.   
  
While Elriah continued to survey Husks’ wounds, Vilkas was left to watch warily. Even in the Silverhands cell Husk had been anything but meek, nor had he avoided eye contact. He’d been the one to initiate it. Even after Aela had interrogated him, Husk had still met her gaze defiantly and without any hesitation. But he’d avoided Elriah. Something wasn’t right, Vilkas decided, but he had no choice but to ignore it for now. Husk was already on edge enough without him adding to it.   
  
Farkas elbowed his brother, breaking him from his thoughts. “Told you so.” Vilkas’s eyebrow raised in question. “You shoulda let Tilma teach you how to sew. I was right.” Farkas all but beamed at finally having something to hold above his brother.   
  
Athis sneered in amusement, no doubt at the thought of Vilkas stitching a quilt like a grandmother.   
  
Tilma had raised them like her own, even teaching Farkas how to mend his own clothes. But Vilkas, filled with the arrogance only a child could have, had turned the offer down. That in itself would have been understandable to some degree - had he not curtly said that was a wife’s duty. He’d promptly ended up in the corner. 

“ _Any_ practice would have been better than this, Vilkas.” Elriah scoffed in partly amusement. “Remind me to brush up on your field care. Which, speaking of, I do believe I have something that could help….”  
  
Elriah pulled his bag from his back before sitting it between himself and Husk. Soon small supplies were stacked around him as he continued to shift through the contents. Miniature jars of salve and tightly bound linen rolls appeared in droves. Elriah handed Husk the latter to hold.   
  
Soon Husk’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates as he watched as even more supplies were summoned forth. Eventually the sides of the bag were left limp, devoid of anything left.   
  
Athis turned to watch, taking a quick moment from his duty. There was no masking his curiosity as his leader continued to fumble with something in the bag.   
  
“There we go!” Elriah grinned triumphantly, “That damn lock sticks whenever I need it, I swear...”

With a quick pull, a small bit of fabric came free. Followed by a leather satchel. Deep wrinkles gave way to the original mammoth hide, worn and faded with years of use. The latch was a simple claw of some beast of yore that caught light as Elriah’s nimble fingers pushed it through the loop holding it shut.  
  
Vilkas’s mouth dried as the satchel was opened.   
  
Unaware, Husk gave it no thought and helped hand Elriah back the bandages.   
  
Farkas wrapped his hand around Vilkas’s wrist before he could interrupt. He would have argued, but as he turned to do so, he only saw his brother echoing the same expression. “Elriah…” Farkas warned, his tone dark with worry.  
  
Elriah didn’t hear his husband, or if he did he gave no heed. His attention was solely on the wolf in front of him. Husk’s nose twitched as he watched as Elriah opened the satchel; though it was not the herbs that seemed to have caught his attention.   
  
Small clear vials were carefully lined up, filled with many different colored fluids. They resembled Skooma with their sloping shape and tall necks. An incredibly thin shiv like contraption was nestled in the middle of it all. Intricate carvings of the Dwemer runes and figures danced on its golden hue.  
  
Elriah’s hand hovered over one of the Vials, but stopped as Husk squinted, as if trying to place where he had seen them before. It didn't take long for recognition to appear. His eyes widened anxiously as soon as the instrument was taken out. Elriah selected a vial. Holding it up for Husk to inspect. The change in Husk was almost instant. The fear ebbed away as he began to watch Elriah’s hands instead. 

“I’m going to need to use this,” Elriah explained, his tone even and calm.“If we’re going to get you patched up I’ll need you calm while I work. Now, this won’t put you to sleep but you won’t feel like doing much.” The contraption clinked as an empty vial slid free from its hilt. “Do you understand, Husk?”  
  
For once, Husk didn’t look to Vilkas for confirmation.   
  
Nor did he notice Vilkas’s panic as he presented his arm, the softer underside flesh up to the air. Farkas on the other hand did, and quietly put his hand on Vilkas’s shoulder pulling him back sharply to stop as Vilkas tried to stand quickly. Intervening or not, Farkas was none too happy either. He silenced whatever words Vilkas was about to speak with a worried shake of his head. 

Elriah was perplexed as he carefully adjusted Husk’s arm. “Good, thank you. Now Husk, can you stay still? I’m going to give you something to take the edge off before I go any further.”  
  
Husk’s lip twitched nervously as he answered, the rest of his face growing slightly pale. “Yes sir.”  
  
Elriah replaced the empty vial. He held the tool in his left hand as his right took hold of Husk’s wrist as he gently stretched his arm out straighter. The needle gently prodded the skin in different areas before finally coming to rest near the crook.

“I’ll try not to fight back,” Husk promised quietly.  
  
With the lightest twitch of the hand, Elriah stabbed the tip into Husk, sending the liquid into his veins. Husk hissed. Elriah was quick to pull the dwemer syringe back out before slipping the satchel back in it's bag. Husk blinked slowly as Elriah let go and let his arm. It fell back to his side.   
  
Elriah stood up before landing his eyes on Farkas. His husband did not look happy, but there was an understanding nonetheless. Farkas nodded grimly as he moved to sit down next to Husk. With practiced ease, Farkas began talking quietly to Husk as he helped him stay sitting up despite the way he’d begun to sway.  
  
Vilkas’s view was cut off. Elriah’s face was painted in deadly calm as he stood before the warrior. “You and I need to have a talk. _Now_ .”   
  
Vilkas stood, unable to look his Harbinger in the eyes as he was led away.   
  


  
  
  



	22. An Unbreakable Oath

Anger was a rare shade on Elriah, though as the Companions left the camp, the harbinger was all but bathed in it. He was silent. Tight lipped smile, and tighter hands, the Harbinger led the way into the depth of the forest, just far enough to avoid the others overhearing.

 _“Where did you find him?”_ Elriah demanded. His tone wavered.   
  
Aela had already given her report, but from the tone of his voice Vilkas knew better than to point it out. “Gallows Rock, in the prisoners quarters. But enough of where, I want to know what was with him giving you his damn arm!”   
  
Elriah pinched the bridge of his own nose as he sighed; trying to suppress his annoyance. It wasn't Elriah’s fault that Husk had been so willing. Guilt followed on the heels of his anger.  
  
“I did not mean to question you, Harbinger,” he apologized.  
  
Elriah merely shook his head as he let go of his face. “Was there anything odd just lying around near him? Did anything outside the cell look out of place, glass bits, other junk, vials perhaps?” Elriah simply let go of the fact Vilkas had snapped with a sigh.   
  
“Not that I remember.” Vilkas’s brows furrowed with thought. “ Nothing but dust, dried blood, shit, and corpses. Aela found a potion off a ways. Unless you’re asking about the dead werewolves in the rest of cells, nothing else stood out.” He paused. “Or up.”

Elriah shoulders fall slightly. “Except for your friend,” he smiled.   
  
Vilkas echoed it. “Aye.”   
  
It was difficult to toe the line of family and work. Especially when it came to moments like this. Had Elriah not been his brother’s husband, Vilkas could easily accept orders without thought. However, as family Vilkas always had the urge to tease and taunt. Clearly Elriah felt the same as the Harbinger relaxed further.

It didn't take a genius to know that Elriah had expected to hear something worse. He looked back at the camp, making sure no one had heard them. The hand that had rested around the satchel’s strap relaxed.   
  
“So, how have things been?” Vilkas huffed in disbelief. Elriah held up his hands. “No, I’m actually asking! You’ve been missing for days on end with a stranger,” he pointed out. “Can't a man worry about his family?”   
  
“I suppose,” Vilkas yawned. After hunting the buck, followed by the bandits, all the Companion wanted to do was sleep. “To be honest it’s been rather boring. Between hunting and making sure Husk is doing alright, there’s not much to say.”   
  
“So what you’re saying is you've been perfectly safe.” Elriah threw his arms out. “We’ve been worrying about you all this time,” he ranted, “And you’ve been having a get-away!”   
  
Vilkas actually found himself chuckling. “Aye, I have.” A slow grin grew. “Then you three showed up to ruin it.”   
  
The harbinger rolled his eyes, but was smiling despite himself. “...Would you mind if we joined you? I’m sure Whiterun won't burn down _too_ quickly without us.” The question had been in jest, of course, but soon they were shaking hands. As if they’d truly struck a deal.   
  
“I think that can be arranged,” Vilkas’ smile fell into seriousness as he let go. Elriah’s hand dropped to his side. “For the price of an answer.”   
  
“Then I suppose I have no choice,” Elriah hummed. “Ask away.”   
  
Vilkas drew in a sigh. He couldn’t afford to lose his tongue and break what restraint Elriah had put on his anger, but the question burned in the corner of his mind with a morbid curiosity.

“...Were you planning to poison Husk?” Vilkas wasn't daft. He’d watched as Elriah’s hand had chosen a different vial once Husk had reacted. 

“If I was about to poison him do you really think he would give me his arm so willingly?” Elriah pointed out. The smile had faded into an expression far too calm for Vilkas’ liking. “And if I was, your job would be to leave it be and accept my decision.”   
  
The time of familial banter had ended. With an almost sickening click, the tone shifted so visibly that Vilkas could almost feel it.  
  
“Now Vilkas, I need you to answer me truthfully. Your honesty won’t make me decide one way or the other about Husk’s fate, but it will help me decide how we will go about helping him should we decide to.” Elriah’s face was grim as he spoke slowly. Each word was heavy with seriousness. “Were there any other Silver clasps or collars on the other dead werewolves?” 

Had there been any others branded besides Husk? Vilkas’s mind went blank. He hadn’t paid much attention to the dead - at least the one indoors. But he was a warrior, one who was trained to notice anything out of place. There was no possible way he wouldn’t have seen their sinister gleam in the Gallows prisons, he decided.   
  
“No, Harbinger.” His leader, not his brother-in-law, stood before him. “Only on Husk.”  
  
Elriah did not reply as he leant against a nearby tree, watching Vilkas carefully. He changed the subject before Vilkas could ask why. “Husk knew exactly what those vials were for. He did what he was supposed to. _Without_ needing to be told.” It was such a casual statement said in an easy manner, as if he had just mentioned the weather instead of the poisons. “He’s used to injections, Vilkas.”  
  
Vilkas wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. If not poison, what else could it be in that bag of death that Husk had recognized? A lurch of protective anger made him scowl.  
  
“I don’t know exactly what they put in him, but my best bet is that whatever it was isn’t good. I don’t think the Silverhands would be as _nice_ to drug him before flaying him open like that.” The harbinger huffed bitterly. “Then again I don’t know how much poison they’d use on their prisoners”   
  
“Even if they did,” Vilkas’s scowl deepened. “It wouldn't explain why Husk was willing.”   
  
“No, I suppose it doesn't.”   
  
Silence fell over their section of the woods.   
  
Elriah paused as he looked Vilkas over thoughtfully. His fingers tapped in a steady rhythm against his arm. “...Aela filled Farkas in for me about what happened-”   
  
“ _Wonderful_ ,” Vilkas cursed.   
  
Elriah ignored him. “I’m not going to ask why you stepped in their fight but I do want to know why you saved Husk in the first place.”   
  
“Because he was a prisoner!” Vilkas stared, enraged. “It’s what Companions do!”   
  
Eriah breathed outwards in frustration. “Yes, but when you found out the truth-”   
  
“You’re asking me why I didn't kill him myself.”   
  
“Exactly that.”  
  
Vilkas’s throat tightened. Without warning, the very question he had dreaded was out in the open. There was no backing down now. He had hoped to have a few more days at least to find a way to word it, but now that Elriah had found him the option no longer stood.  
  
Elriah’s leveled gaze held fast. There was a caution in his eyes as he looked over the fellow Companion. A muddled corner of bandages managed to peek from underneath Vilkas’ armor. Vilkas had been hurt. By the claws of the very man he’d saved. Elriah watched him carefully, old anger smothered deep down beneath the authority of a well trained Harbinger.   
  
Vilkas would never lie to his brother’s husband if he could help it, but damn if he didn't wish he could. The truth was just as damning as any trial.  
  
“...I saw that he had fought to survive,” Vilkas started. “Back in the cells. Even when he spat growls at us, there was just something still…. _Human_ about him. I saw a fellow Nord.”  
  
“Half Elf,” Elriah corrected.  
  
“Aye,” Vilkas grumbled. “ _That_ .”   
  
“So you saw he still had humanity, and that was enough for you to side with him?”   
  
“Killing him wouldn't have been putting him out of his misery - it would have been making everything he’d suffered through _meaningless_ . He deserved it to be worth _something_ .”   
  
Vilkas was a Companion. It was his very job to save and help others. But… As Elriah stood waiting for him to continue, Vilkas was struck with the realization of just how far fetched his plan wass. How was he supposed to defend bringing back a prisoner that tried to kill their shield sibling? The idea of leading Husk to a prolonged death was enough to pick up his heartbeat into a rapid, painful drumming.  
  
Elriah nodded as he hummed, mulling over what had been said. Whether he believed him or not was unclear. “And what exactly were you planning to do if you got him back to Jorrvaskr? It may have been Aela’s idea at first but you were the one who kept it going after she changed her mind.” Elriah sighed. “In my opinion Vilkas, you and Alea should have put him down on the spot and spared him from all this.” There was no malice in his voice, just calm truth. “Suffering needlessly, or not.”  
  
He held a hand up as Vilkas started to protest.  
  
“He may not be one willingly, but he is Silverhands, Vilkas. That collar isn’t for show. It’s a _statement_ . You that know just as well as I do.” The harbinger’s hands came together, fings pressed into a steeple. “ ...There is a _risk_ involved because of that.”  
  
Vilkas ground his teeth together, biting back a snarl. “Husk is a good lad; there was no reason to kill him! He didn’t rot in that cell for gods knows how long before he was rescued just to get himself killed before even a week!”   
  
Elriah tried to placate “The Silverhand-"  
  
“ _Damn the Silverhand_ !” Vilkas felt his hands tighten into fists. “ _I refuse to_ -”   
  
Elriah sighed shortly and terse. “All you’re doing is possibly giving him false hope! Do you really want to put him through that? Did you even _think_ about what trying to save him would put him through?” For once the Harbinger’s voice rose - as did his finger as he jabbed it into Vilkas’ chest. “If he turns on another Companion we’ll have to put him down, and that’s going to hurt him a hell of a lot more any torture ever could. And for _what!_ ”  
  
Vilkas hadn’t thought about that. He _refused_ to think about that. Husk had let him into the cell and had trusted him since the moment they met. Vilkas knew he was going to regret saying what he was about to, but there was no other choice. Elriah was a good man, a damned good leader, but he was fishing for something that simply wasn’t there. Husk was no monster.   
  
“I wanted to make him a Companion!” Vilkas blurted. His voice shook as he looked his Harbinger in the eyes. Elriah’s finger withdrew. “Not many can survive what he did. Husk has a real fighters spirit!   
  
“…a Companion,” Elriah echoed, voice thoughtful.  
  
Vilkas nodded sharply. “Aye! If he’s served the Silverhand for all those years, then he knows everything that _we_ need to know to defeat them! He’d fit in our ranks perfectly.” The companion spoke confidently, shoulders tense as Elriah’s face clouded with thought. “I personally vouch for him. But if you’re right, and he goes feral…?” Vilkas swallowed, remembering the same promise he’d made to Aela. “I’ll put Husk down myself.”   
  
“And you can live with that?”   
  
“I’ll have to.” Despite his words, Vilkas’ voice wavered. “ _Any_ chance at freedom is better than none.”  
  
“...I see,” Elriah sighed. His mouth twisted in a grimace as the notion rolled around in his head. “I’ve never seen you this stubborn before Vilkas, at least in a decent non-lethal way. Last time you wanted to kill all of the silverhand, and now you’re trying to save one to keep it!”  
  
Vilkas’s jaw tightened at the comment, biting back words he knew would do no good.  
  
“...Do you really mean what you say about Husk?”   
  
Vilkas nodded and straightened his posture more. “Every word. He has a spirit I’ve never seen before in anyone else. But should it need to be done, I will send him to the hunting grounds myself with no regret, because at least he was free among his own kind. For however short the time might be.”  
  
Elriah watched Vilkas carefully as he remained standing, watching for any sign of a lie or uncertainty. There was no trace of either. Only pure determination and loyalty to the werewolf.

The silence returned thickly as the Harbinger stared him down. Vilkas could hear his own heart beating as the result of the mock trial was decided. His mouth tasted like bile. If Elriah were to order Husk’s death now, he would have to follow his orders.   
  
“...Well then, I guess we should get back and patch up the newest possible shield-whelp!” Elriah shrugged as he pushed himself up from the tree’s trunk. His hands came together in a single clap.

  
“…What?” Vilkas stared in disbelief.   
  
Elriah wearily raised a brow and gave a half hearted smile. “I said we need to patch up Husk. ...I don’t agree with you Vilkas, I feel like you are making a terrible mistake, but there is no doubt that he does at least deserve the chance to live.”

  
Vilkas let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. He couldn’t tell if Elriah had been sarcastic about Husk being a possible Companion, but found he couldn’t care. At least now Husk had a _chance_ .   
  
  


\---  
  
  


Farkas had already pulled the bedroll from the tent and had Husk lying chest down on top of it. Husk was barely awake as he groggily looked up to see the Companions return.  
  
Vilkas swallowed hard as Elriah beckoned for him and Athis to assist.  
  
Deep shadows settled in the gaps between Husk’s ribs. Vilkas swore that Husk had looked more alive not only hours ago, yet out in the light outside of the tent there was no debating how ill he really was. Now he understood Elriah had meant. Or so he thought.  
  
Farkas had taken his place kneeling next to Husk’s legs, hands lightly holding them down. Elriah was by Husk’s side with Athis on the other. Elriah directed Vilkas to sit by Husk’s head with a shallow jut of his chin.  
  
Husk‘s head rolled to the side as he peered up at Vilkas, looking positively inebriated. He mumbled something, though the words couldn’t be made out. Even as Athis began to cut away the stitches on his back, Husk made no reaction.   
  
Although the tips of the stitching had remained somewhat clean, they soon became putrid. Dark clumps of blood and flecks of scabs clung to the fibre as they slowly slid free from the puckered needle marks.   
  
Elriah scrunched his nose as the smell began to creep through the air around them. Rot surrounded them as more of the stitches were tossed to the side.  
  
Athis turned his head to the side and spat in disgust.  
  
Soon the stitches were gone, leaving Husk’s wound open to the air.  
  
Elriah carefully pulled back the scarred skin, revealing the full extent of the supposed axe’s strike.

“By the divines,” Elriah swore under his breath. He too turned to spit as the wound stared at the Companions. There was puss everywhere. Infection had begun to eat away internally at the wounds' sides - rendering it almost to the very same state as it had started.  
  
“Well then, this is going to take some time. If anyone needs to take a piss do it now,” Elriah mused humorlessly. No one laughed at the joke, nor did Elriah smile as he said it aloud.   
  
“If there are no complaints,” he glanced over at Vilkas, “or unless anyone has changed their minds, then it’s time to start getting ready to hold him down.”  
  
Vilkas took hold of the arms without a word.  
  
The next part was sure to hurt like Hell if the look on Elriah’s face said anything. He looked down into the wound, then away, sighing as he stood. However, instead of starting on whatever he planned to do - Elriah stood. He went straight to the deer’s skinned remains.  
  
The Companions watched, confusion clear as they waited for an idea of what Elriah was doing. The Harbinger took one of the buck’s antlers in hand.  
  
“Last chance Vilkas,” He warned. “Do you really want to put him through this?” Elriah’s shoulders were tense and as he waited for an answer.   
  
“Aye.”  
  
Elriah stiffened. “You realize this will be rough on him, don’t you?” He accused. “Should he manage to survive, he’ll be _miserable_ until it’s finished healing.”  
  
Vilkas swallowed hard. “Aye.”   
  
Husk had already survived worse. More pain was nothing if it meant survival.  
  
Elriah shook his head as he broke the antler with a resounding snap. He turned it over in his hands wearily before walking back over and handing it to Vilkas. “Make sure he bites down on it then. We don’t need any screaming bringing in any curious eyes.”   
  
Elriah was stern and made sure to look Vilkas in the eyes as he spoke. His harbinger was testing him to see how far he would really go, but there was no masking the guilt on his face or hope that Vilkas would agree to let him relive Husk.  
  
Vilkas felt his stomach turn. Husk was drugged; he shouldn’t feel most of what would happen. Or at least that’s what he hoped.  
  
Carefully Vilkas put the antler against Husk’s lips. He mumbled, coaxing Husk to open his mouth. Husk bit down, sealing his fate.   
  
Elriah uncorked a bottle of mead from his bag as Athis held the wound open.  
  
Husk **_shrieked_**.  
  
The antler did nothing as the alcohol was poured into the wound. Vilkas suddenly found himself putting most of his effort into holding down his arms as Husk began to thrash against the pain. Even drugged he was still difficult to hold down, if only from the fact that Farkas and his brother were reluctant to put too much pressure on fragile bones.  
  
“Hold him down! The more he moves the worse it’ll get!” Elriah ordered.  
  
Husk whined as his head fell back down, pressing hard against the furs as a long keening noise left his throat. The sound far too canine as it escaped. His breathing erratic as he gave into light whimperings and shivers. His eyes were pressed shut while sweat dotted his brow. Desperation and pain wafted off him in equal measure.   
  
Starting with a rag, Elriah began to clean out the wound, pulling out clumps of pus. The other Companions gagged. He reached into the wound, his fingers deeply rooted. The stench was awful. Not even the smell of mead managed to cut through the overpowering smell.  
  
Blood bubbled up, turning the infectious gunk red. Elriah threw the putrid pus into a nearby bucket as soon before returning for more.  
  
Husk’s teeth sank deeply into the antler. To feel someone’s hands rummaging near your spine…Vilkas couldn’t begin to comprehend how painful it must have felt; even with Husk being numbed. _It feels like torture,_ the ratinal part of his mind mumbled. Vilkas shoved the thought away as quickly as it had come.  
  
Husk didn’t fight against them now- though if that was from exhaustion or the sedatives, Vilkas wasn’t sure. However, that didn’t mean that Husk’s cries or shaking was less than before.

The Antler only helped muffle him so much.

Husk trembled under Vilkas’s hands, and it took all of Vilkas’s control to not look down at the eyes that were _pleading_ for it to stop. He didn’t want to see the tears that had begun to fall from the pain. He continued to hold Husk’s arms, though somewhat lighter. Husk was too tired to struggle against his help anymore. 

As soon as the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Elriah took his satchel into his lap, pulling out another vial. It was slightly bigger than the rest. It smelt earthy though burned to breath in, making Farkas grunt and Athis scrunch his nose.  
  
Soon the once red gouge was coated in greenish paste. There was no longer any visible infection, all of it smothered under the medication.  
  
“How’s he holding up?” Elriah asked.  
  
Vilkas had avoided looking down, but as he did he realized that Husk was no longer conscious. “He’s out.”  
  
“…That’s probably for the best,” Elriah sighed in defeat. A needle and thread soon followed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	23. Silver Collars and Silver Tongues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am blown away at all of the support! Thank you all so much for your comments and Kudos!!!! <3

It had been a gruesome job to partake in, but as Husk lay unconscious and shimmering with sweat, Elriah decided that it managed to be  _ somewhat _ worth it. Pale and sickly, Husk still looked a few steps back from death's door. His wounds were now clean, medicated, and stitched, leaving only the collar to be dealt with. Even the wound on his forehead had been tended to.   
  
As the other Companions went about disposing the old stitches and covering the bloodied ground with dirt, Vilkas sat unmoved by Husk’s side. There was an emptiness in his gaze, aimed in the direction of the newly stitched wounds. His silver eyes were unfocused and blurry with exhaustion.   


Elriah truly hoped that his brother-in-law was plagued with guilt. Surviving the field surgery or not, Husk’s life was far from guaranteed, and if he did, there would be more suffering in his future while healing. More chances of it all leading to a fruitless end. Elriah wondered bitterly if _he_ was just as much at fault for Husk’s pain by letting the surgery take place.  
  
Gingerly, the Harbinger turned his attention, and his hands, to the collar. Perfectly smooth like marble and just as thick, there was no gap or give from the silver. Older burns overlapped underneath it’s rim, raised and ragged, in a seal of scarred flesh.  
  
“Vilkas?” Elriah spoke.  
  
The Companion glanced up wearily with lips turned downwards as a frown set upon him. The shadow around his eyes had only grown from holding down the struggling lad. The guilt was as clear as the gouge on Husk’s back.   
  
Good.   
  
“What do you know of this collar? Anything?”  
  
Vilkas nodded shallowly and slow. “ _Some_ ,” Vilkas all but spat, “that damned thing was soldered on the moment they stuck it on him.”  
  
Elriah’s brows raised, eyes widening in alarm at such a cruel injustice. “He told you this?”  
  
“No, but there's no other explanation,” Vilkas said. “There are no locks anywhere on it; just a melted line.”  
  
Elriah continued to examine the werewolf’s collar with that statement in mind, only to come to the conclusion that Vilkas was, decidedly, right. There was no mistaking the soldered line.  
  
Farkas pulled more mead from his rucksack. He offered it to Elriah first, who turned it down with a wave of a hand. Vilkas welcomed the mead and accepted it without a word, as did Athis.  
  
“That was rough,” Farkas acknowledged bluntly.  
  
Athis tilted his mead in acknowledgement. “That is was. Can’t say that contraption will be any easier, though.”  
  
“Maybe we should cut it off?” Farkas offered, “we brought a wood axe.”   
  
His brother’s head shot up, a dangerous stiffness to his form. The light from the fire made his tired dark eyes look even darker as he glared across it at Farkas.  
  
Farkas returned the glare with a hard glance, not budging at all under his brother’s protective glower. “You heard me. No keyhole means no key, and that means no way to unlock it. I might be slow, but even I know that means we’ve got to cut.”  
  
“Even if that’s the case we can't just use some axe!” Vilkas scoffed. “It will take nothing less than a good blacksmith and the divines to get that damned thing off!”  
  
“Without taking his head with it, at least,” Athis added.  
  
Farkas shrugged while he chewed thoughtfully. Supper had been a quickly done affair. “Yeah, well, what else can we do? We just going to leave it on there until and hope it just _falls_ off?”  
  
Elriah turned his back on the argument as he gaveHusk’s wounds a final check, looking for any signs of a spot missed by medication or illy-stitched. He didn’t bother to listen to whatever retort Vilkas practically shouted across the camp.  


Athis however seemed to be greatly enjoying the show, with his face stuck in a grin as he listened to the cursing and angry fuming between the brothers.    
  
Elriah glanced beseechingly at the dunmer. “ _ Please _ tell me you have some other idea,” Elriah pleaded. “Something that  _ doesn’t _ involve any sort of axe or sword or taking Husk to a blacksmith. I don’t want to risk having anyone getting thrown into a forge.” There was a hint in his tone however that suggested the opposite, and that he’d quite happily do so himself.   
  
“Well...I do have something that might work.” The elf didn't bother to explain. With the argument between the brothers set aside, Athis walked between the pair, wandering over to Husk and began without even a quick notice of his plans. His dagger shimmied between the skin and collar.   
  
“ _ Careful _ !” Elriah hissed.    
  
“Oh come off it,” Athis huffed. “He’s got too many scars to be able to feel this.” True or not, no blood began to appear. The Companions were left having to watch as Athis began to use his blade as a lever in an attempt to pry the collar loose. The edge of the blade trying to find the inner grove where the soldered line was weakest. When there was no sign of giving, more weight was put behind it with a grunt. “Hold on, I think I’ve got it…”   


The Companions leaned in closer as the collar finally began to move, sliding up at an angle.  
  
Farkas, clearly pleased that some version of his idea was working, eyed the blade with satisfaction. Even more so once the metal started to creak. Everyone held their breath as hope lingered in the air. Athis ginned triumphantly at his soon to be victory.

  
**_S N A P !_ **

  
The blade shot across the camp as the collar snapped back into place. Athis stared dumbfounded at the broken handle in his hands. The dagger had snapped cleanly at the hilt, while the blade, which had thankfully not cut anyone as it escaped, was lost to the bushes that edged the camp.  
  
“…Well,” Elriah said. “I suppose that takes care of that idea.”  
  
“By the Red Mountain the blasted thing won’t budge for anything less than a miracle!” Athis tossed his useless hilt aside. “Vilkas is right; we’ll need a smith to get this damned thing off.”  
  
“Eorlund might do it,” Farkas spoke up. His face fell with uncertainty. “...Not sure if he’s ever had to cut metal off of a living person though.”  
  
Elriah hummed at the idea, weighing the options. Eorlund could do it, without a doubt, but the real question was  _ would _ he. Eorlund never liked to take risks with his creations, let alone a living being when the slightest skip of his tools could easily decapitate.   
  
There was nothing left to do but leave the collar on and wait.

\---

“Do you think he will pull through this, ‘riah?”   


Elriah sat close to his husband’s side, nestled up against the warm bulk of a body. Husk had been moved to the tent while the other two Companions set up another nearby. Farkas and Elriah took to watching over the lad as he still lay unconscious.   


“I can’t say for sure just yet. He’s a fighter though if he hasn’t died already.” Elriah answered.  
  
“You’re worried he won’t make it through tonight, but you’re not sure because he’s a full blood?”   


Elriah nodded. Farkas was nowhere near to being as dumb as some thought. Slow perhaps, but far from stupid. There was a simplistic wisdom there, one that never over thought, and just saw things as they were. There were no tips of the trade to follow now; only uncharted territory. Farkas had picked up on his worry so easily, still suppressing Elriah years into their marriage.   


“There are a lot of issues all going at once,” Elriah confessed. “It’s hard to tell how far gone he may be...but as long as he doesn’t start to seize again there should be a chance.”    
  
“Like Kodlak…?” Farkas frowned as he left the sentence open for Elriah to respond, or hopefully assure him otherwise. The mention of seizures alone seemed to sap any hope from him as his shoulders slumped is disappointment.  
  
Elriah gave a shallow nod. “Like Kodlak.”  
  
Farkas echoed solemnly and leaned into his husband more. “…I hope he does. He seems nice enough, smart too. Something new to bring to our hall.”   
  
Elriah managed to chuckle despite his exhaustion. “You’re just saying that because your brothers taken a liking to him.”   
  
“Nah, well,  _ maybe;  _ but Husk did good too. With the whole vampire distraction thing.” He paused. “I liked that.”   
  
“Of course you would,” Elriah smiled. Anything entertained his husband - but that was part of why he loved him.   
  
Silence settled over them. Their charge, Husk, was bundled up snuggly in not only the bedroll, but the cloak that still served as a blanket. Farkas had dropped a true blanket from his supplies on top of it.   
  
“You know, this is the first time since we were whelps that I’ve ever seen Vilkas take something in like this,” Farkas finally spoke. His tone was soft, unwilling to shake the comfortable mood. “Last time it was our dog's runt. He tried for a good solid week to help it, and cried for another when it passed.”   


Elriah heaved a sigh and hung his head in momentary weakness. He couldn’t promise that Husk would survive, and even if he did, Farkas had no idea that his brother had agreed to put Husk down if needed. It was a heavy burden to bear to be a harbinger of the Companions, let alone the husband of the man who was already investing himself.   


Elriah knew by heart how Husk would react when he awoke, and how much pain he would be in. He had the power to stop it.  _ All _ of it. It wouldn't take much. He would need to either convince Vilkas it was time to let him go, or simply slip in during the night and make it look like Husk had passed away quietly in his sleep.    
  
His satchel could do it.    
  
“...We’ll certainly see,” Elriah sighed.   
  
Eventually another tent was set, and Husk was moved to it instead. It was larger, certainly enough to fit about three Companions at a time, but better yet it was  _ warm _ . And far from empty as they were soon joined by Athis and Farkas. By the time they settled in, with Elriah taking first watch, dawn had already begun to break.   
  
“....We were worried about you, you know,” Farkas said. “You should have come back with Aela. Vanishing like that was a bad idea.”  
  
“Aela didn't give me a choice. Husk survived too much to be left to bled out at some dusty camp.”  
  
“That happened after the questioning, right? I know she said it was bad but...Still, I didn't think she’d cut someone up like that for answers.”  
  
Vilkas’ blood ran cold. “She spoke of it…?” His voice barely managed to come out in a scarce whisper as he sat up.   
  
“Yeah, she said it in front of everybody,” Farkas grimaced. “...And about him being a Silverhand.”  
  
“By ysmir I’ll kill her!”  
  
Athis snickered. As much as he’d love to watch that fight go down he knew it was best to calm his brother now before Elriah would catch wind of them still being awake. “Now now, no need for that, shield-brother.” Athis paused with a grunt as he stretched. The sound of bones popping was loud in their tent. “Unless what she said was true, things should be fine. You may not be as smart as you say Vilkas, but I don’t think even  _ you _ could be that damaged in the head.”  
  
Farkas nodded enthusiastically at the elf’s argument. “Aela had to have gotten it all wrong. There’s no doubt he was tortured and all, but  _ that _ ? Being able to kill that many werewolves and working with the Silverhand?” He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t see that.”  
  
Vilkas sighed slowly as he drug a hand through his hair. If Aela had already said something, then she had probably given a full report. There was no use trying to hide the truth of it now. “...Aye, he did. Aela wasn’t lying about that, as much as I wish I could say she was.”   
  
The tent fell silent.   
  
Not wanting to bother with pleading a case for the man who could still die that night, Vilkas sighed and lied back on the bedroll. Husk was indeed the killer Aela had painted him to be. Either way the damage was done and there was nothing that could change it.  
  
However, the surprised silence was cut short by Farkas’ curiosity. “Did you guys really name him...?”   
  
Vilkas scrubbed at his face before answering. There really would be no sleep in his future. It was still a better topic than murder, at least. “Aye. We had to call him  _ something _ , poor bastard didn't remember his own name.    
  
Farkas sat up. Vilkas inwardly groaned at the realization he would not be getting any sleep whatsoever.  
  
“Alright, that makes sense, but why  _ Husk _ ?”  
  
Eyes widened in surprise at the obvious question. “...Now that you mention it, I haven’t. He chose the name and we left it at that.”  
  
“If he survives, let's rename him, maybe take a vote on naming the stray. I personally say we should name him  _ Bingo _ ,” Athis teased.   
  
“If you call him a stray again I’ll beat you worse than Njada ever could,” Vilkas warned. “It may be stupid name, I’ll agree, but he decided it so it  _ stays _ .”    
  
Athis held his hands up in moc submission. “I’m sure you would too, running off with him and all. It’s no wonder you’re so protective. So sorry to offend.”  
  
It took surprising restraint to not verbally tear into the elf. In the end, Farkas interrupted before any fight could break out. “Come on now, don’t yell, you might actually manage to wake him up with all that!” Both Vilkas and Athis looked to Husk, before sharing a look of skepticism. “Look, let’s all just get some sleep. It’s been a long day, and I don't want Elriah madder than he is already.”  
  
Athis scoffed. “He’s not mad, just perturbed. It’s not every day you have to save some random werewolf. Now, If he  _ were _ mad  _ someone _ would be dead, and by someone I mean our idiot friend here.” Athis poked Vilkas’s arm with his finger. “....While we’re on the topic of Bingo, was he  _ really _ as bad off as Aela said he was?"  
  
“If by bad off you mean we thought he was some sort of drauger, then yes.” Vilkas said tersely. “You should have seen it, real stomach turner that was.”  
  
“I’m glad I didn’t, thank you.” Athis’ slip sneered in disgust.    
  
“Good, now if you’ll both shut up so I can get to sleep I won’t have to tell you the gruesome details. I could ramble on about the way those maggots slithered on his spine.”   



End file.
